


Edward Nygma Advent Calendar

by angelsandbrowncoats



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Broken Bones, Comic Gore, Crack, Dark is Rising AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Getting Together, Holidays, Huddling For Warmth, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Locked in during a snowstorm, M/M, Murder, Pick-Up Lines, Political Philosophy, Revenge, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Bed, You Decide, and some without romance at all, but there will be some non-gotham scriddler, each chapter is a standalone oneshot, more or less, most will be nygmobblepot, my apologies for the delay, whether they're bad or fantastic: you decide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-09 11:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 35,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12887391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: A new one shot for every day leading to Christmas, starring my favorite rogue, Ed.Day 1: Inviting (No Ships/No Romance)Day 2: Penguin's Secret (Nygmobblepot)Day 3: Decorations (Nygmobblepot)Day 4: A Friend in the Dark (Nygmobblepot)Day 5: Muscle Memory (Scriddler)Day 6: (Baby) It's Cold Outside (Nygmobblepot)Day 7: The Wrong Words (Nygmobblepot)Day 8: Glisten and Glitter (Nygmobblepot)Day 9: Snowmen (Scriddler)Day 10: Yule Ball (Nygmobblepot)Day 11: Reindeer (Nygmobblepot)Day 12: Sleigh Ride (Nygmobblepot)Day 13: Supply Closet (Scriddler)Day 14: First Snow (Scriddler)Day 15: Watching You (Nygmobblepot)Day 16: Advice (Nygmobblepot)Day 17: Machiavellian Absolutism (Nygmobblepot)Day 18: Compromise (Scriddler)Day 19: Captain's Log (Nygmobblepot)Day 20: Ice (Scriddler)Day 21: Flyting (Nygmobblepot)Day 22: Secret Santa (Scriddler)Day 23: Moving On (Nygmobblepot)Day 24: ???Day 25: ???





	1. Inviting (No Ships)

**Author's Note:**

> We'll see if I manage this...  
> (I'm 4/25 already, so there's a chance I can keep up!)  
> And keep in mind that these are short, quick fics, so I'm not going to claim they'll all be winners. I hope they're all good, but I'm not holding my breath on 'great'.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee surprises Edward with an invitation

Edward finished meticulously straightening his suit on its hanger, stroking it one more time and enjoying the sharp variation of textures caused by the excessive sequins. A smile lingered on his lips as he looked at it, his pride and joy. If he looked deeper, he could probably find some rather depressing reasons behind his love of quite literally sparkling on stage, but he’d rather not, so he didn’t.

 

Adjusting his slightly more subdued suit around himself so that it was comfortable, he grabbed his few belongings and headed for the door. Even the Narrows celebrated the holidays, it seemed, and the club was closing down for a three-day weekend. Those who had families would be enjoying their togetherness or some such thing. Those who didn’t would probably be scouting out the richer neighborhoods, preying on the charity of the season. Or, like Edward, they’d be holed up in their houses trying not to think about _why_ exactly they were where they were.

 

“Ed?”

 

He turned at the sound of Lee’s voice, finding her standing in the doorway to his room, watching him.

 

“Did you need something before I left?” he asked hesitantly. She was looking at him with the expression he had, over his lifetime, come to associate with being berated for forgetting something.

 

“You’re leaving?”

 

Edward frowned, “I – I thought you said we were taking a long weekend? Did I – did I mishear you?”

 

“No, we are. But where are you going?”

 

“H – To my apartment,” he said slowly. One of the first things he’d done with the money he’d won on Grundy was buy himself a small, shitty place. He would have gotten one with a room for Grundy, but Cherry hadn’t wanted to let _him_ go too far, and Lee hadn’t wanted to kick him out.

 

“Oh,” she smiled at him then, “You’ve found someone? Or made some good friends?”

 

“What? No, I – “

 

She frowned again at this, “So you… want to spend the holidays alone?”

 

“I – no – what?”

 

“I’m sorry for assuming. Most people tend to want to spend the holidays with people who care about them and whom, hopefully, they care about too. You know?”

 

Edward blinked, “I – I’m well aware of this fact? But… why – “

 

“Oh good heavens, Ed, are you spending the holidays with us or not?!” she threw her hands up into the air, as if _he_ had been the confusing one in this conversation.

 

And then her question registered.

 

“You – you’re – you’re _inviting me?_ ”

 

“Yes, Ed. You’re my friend, and I’m inviting you. I don’t exactly have much in the line of friends, myself, these days. Grundy will be there, of course, since he lives in one of the lower rooms. So, what do you say?”

 

Edward thought over the offer. Spending a weekend in the comfortable flat above the club with the only two people he thought of as friends anymore, or sitting in his cramped, moldy little apartment bemoaning his fate. It was an easy decision.

 

“Okay.”

 

“You’re in?”

 

“Yes. Thank you.”

 

“You’re most welcome,” she clapped him on the shoulder, “Although if you really wanted to thank me, I’ve heard you’re quite a talented cook yourself. Maybe you could help with dinner?”

 

“I – of course,” he nodded. When had he last cooked something? Come to think of it, he missed cooking. And baking. Creating something delicious out of a bunch of tiny, often unappetizing parts was a _wonderful_ puzzle. It had truly been too long.

 

Lee led him up the stairs to the place she had ‘inherited’ from Cherry, and showed him where to leave his jacket and shoes.

 

“There’s a bedroom to spare, even with Grundy here,” she told him, “This is probably the greatest piece of real estate in the Narrows.”

 

She showed him the ‘guest’ bedroom he’d be staying in, and he had to admit, the bedroom alone was the size of his own place.

 

“Get settled, and when you’re ready, just join me in the kitchen,” she pointed across the open floor plan to the counters and appliances, “Grundy’s probably asleep, but he’ll wake up when the smell of the food reaches him.”

 

“Okay,” Edward nodded, feeling slightly overwhelmed as he sat on the bed and _oh_ he hadn’t felt a mattress this comfortable since – since –

 

He sighed, blocking out that part of his memory and focusing on the feel of a _real bed_ beneath him. A click sounded from the main room and soft, instrumental music sounded through the apartment, alongside the sound of Lee humming along. A dull pang grew in Edward’s chest, and it took him far too long to realize what it was.

 

He was happy.

 

For the first time in his life, he was looking forward to the holidays.

 

~          ~          ~

 

Sitting around the table with Lee and Grundy was more fun than he’d imagined. Lee was an engaging conversation partner and Grundy was… well, he was entertaining, at least. The feast laid out before them tasted as good as it smelled, and Edward was warm and content. It was not something he was familiar with.

 

During a lull in the conversation, he decided to mention it.

 

“This is nice.”

 

Lee looked over at him and smiled, looking amused, as if there was some sort of joke that he hadn’t gotten. After a moment, she replied, “It is.”

 

He wasn’t sure what to say next, and he was still thinking of something when she said, “You know you can stay here, right? I’m already sharing with Solomon, I wouldn’t mind another. _And_ you have proven yourself just as good a chef as the rumors say.”

 

“You – you mean it?”

 

“Sure. Unless you’ve got a nicer place stashed away somewhere?”

 

“I – no,” he admitted, “I don’t.”

 

“Think about it,” she said.

 

“I – I think I’d like that.”

 

“I’m glad. Now, I believe you promised to tell me how you once won five grand using only a Danish, a teddy bear, and a pencil eraser…”

 

Edward grinned and launched into the tale with gusto, unable to believe his good fortune. It had been so long since he’d felt like this, but at last, things looked like they might just be okay.


	2. Penguin's Secret (Nygmobblepot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward barely sees Oswald anymore and he's just about had enough. Finally he decides to investigate who exactly is occupying his husband's time.

“Will you be home for dinner tonight?” Edward asked, kneeling down beside his latest creation to aid him in his quest of unscrewing one side using just his right hand. His left currently held a cell phone that was more than capable of being put on speaker. Yet, Edward frowned at his own foolish sentimentality, holding the phone made the call feel more personal. No one could get inside his lab, so they weren’t at risk of being overheard, but still it made him feel as if the conversation were more private, for his and Oswald’s ears alone.

 

His frown twisted into something bitter when he heard a regretful sigh on the other end.

 

“I’m sorry, Eddie, but I can’t toni – “

 

“Again?” he interrupted, words shortened by the force with which his lips curled around them, muscles twitching from how tightly they were pursed, “That’s the _fourth_ time this week, Oswald! Not to mention _last_ week, or the week before, or – “

 

“Ed, darling,” Oswald began in a placating tone that Edward hated because _goddamnit_ it worked!

 

“Listen, I know it’s been a rough couple of weeks, it’s just – work has gotten so crazy lately. The Bat has been breathing down my neck lately, my people are getting antsy, and my favorite smuggler was recently taken down. I promise things will clear up in another couple of weeks. Just be patient – please? For me?”

 

Edward bit his lip, trying to force the moistness in his eyes to go away, “But you’ve had problems before, and they’ve never kept you _this_ much. I – I miss you, Os. I feel like I never see you anymore, and I’m your _husband_ for crying out loud. It’s not fair. How come the Bat gets more of your time than I do?”

 

And it wasn’t really fair to say that. How many nights had Edward himself spent away from their bed, taunting the dark knight with puzzles and traps? Edward knew it wasn’t fair, but at the moment, he didn’t particularly care, either.

 

“Edward,” Oswald said oh-so-gently, “I love you. You know I do. But you also know that throwing the Bat off my trail is as much for your sake as it is for mine. I would die before I let him take you away because a mistake _I_ made led him to you. Everything I do – this business, my deals – I admit, I often enjoy them, but they also have the additional bonus of ensuring you are safe and provided for. So I’m _asking_ you to _please_ be patient.”

 

“…Fine,” he answered, eventually.

 

“Thank you, love,” Oswald replied, “I should have some time over the weekend. How about I take you out somewhere, hmm? Anywhere you like. I’ve heard there’s some new exhibit about overlooked inventions at the museum that made me think of you.”

 

“Alright,” Edward tried not to sigh, “We can go to the museum. But we’re not going out to eat. I miss making meals for you.”

 

There was a pause on the other end, before Oswald said, quietly, “I miss enjoying your meals.”

 

_Then come to dinner,_ were the unspoken words hanging between them.

 

“Will I see you tonight?” Edward asked after the silence had stretched on too long.

 

“Maybe,” he paused, “Unlikely. I doubt I’ll be back until well after you’ve left for your latest heist.”

 

Edward felt a glimmer of hope at the knowledge that Oswald knew he was going out tonight. Perhaps he wasn’t being ignored quite as much as he felt. But that hope was drowned in the realization that it would be at least another twenty-four hours before he got to see his husband. He remembered a time when he was the one who woke early, but with his late night capers, his sleep schedule had rotated towards mid-morning.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good. I love you.”

 

“I love you, too, Ed,” Oswald spoke in a tone that was difficult to interpret, before saying goodbye and terminating the call. Edward dropped the phone with a sigh that was truthfully more of a dry sob. Eight years of blissful marriage were honestly more than he’d ever expected to have, but it still hurt to know something was wrong now. He didn’t know what it was, so he didn’t know how to fix it, but somehow, someway, Oswald was pulling away from him. It began with him running late. He would come home at nine instead of seven, too tired to do more than sit with him. And slowly but surely it had turned into this.

 

Edward barely saw his husband anymore. Their schedules weren’t perfectly aligned, but before he’d been able to spend a few hours with Oswald before going off – if he had anything to do that night – or enjoy an evening in if he didn’t. They wouldn’t always wake up together, but he’d make Oswald breakfast at least a few times each week.

 

Not now, though. Now Oswald showed up just as he was going out, or came in after he was gone. He’d return home to find him sleeping, and when he’d wake up, Oswald would already be at the Lounge, working. Their longest interactions tended to be the calls Edward always made sure to make each afternoon, always asking if Oswald would be home for dinner, even though the answer was usually, ‘no’.

 

Oswald told him it was temporary, that it was just work, but the lies were plain to see. He was hiding something from Edward, and Edward didn’t like it. But he would be patient. He would wait a few weeks – a month at most, he’d promised himself – and if it got better – if _they_ got better – he’d let it drop. But if nothing changed…

 

Well, to be honest, he didn’t know what he’d do. He wanted to confront Oswald, to demand he let him back in, but what if Oswald threw him away altogether? Was he really willing to risk what Oswald was still willing to give him?

 

He didn’t know.

 

And then everything changed.

 

~          ~          ~

 

It had been a successful robbery, everything going precisely as planned. Until he got home. He didn’t know immediately that anything was off. He was tired, and their house looked much like it always had. He trudged upstairs, laying his costume in the dressing room and donning a robe as he entered their bedroom.

 

And froze.

 

The bed was empty, completely undisturbed from when he’d made it the previous morning.

 

Oswald hadn’t come home at all.

 

Edward immediately checked his phone for messages but found none. Had Oswald been kidnapped? Surely someone would have noticed, or he’d at least have been sent a _ransom note_ …

 

But there was one other possibility, something that had been scratching at the back of his mind for far too long, something he had tried desperately to ignore. The late nights out, the constant lying, the second phone Edward had found on accident, which Oswald was clearly trying to hide from him.

 

Oswald was seeing someone else. Oswald was cheating on him.

 

A younger Edward might have marched to the Iceberg the next morning, waving a gun and threatening everyone in sight. An _even_ younger Edward might have accepted the consequences quietly, sure of his own lack of worth.

 

But this Edward was both more confident and less aggressive than his previous selves. Somewhat.

 

He would best Oswald the best way he knew how: with his brains. He would trick him into admitting it, perhaps. Or capture his rival and force Oswald to choose.

 

Oh, but he rather liked that last one. Perhaps there was irony in it. After all, when _Oswald_ had had a rival, he hadn’t given Edward the option. He’d chosen for him. Edward could be petty _and_ the bigger person all at the same time by giving Oswald the choice.

 

All he had to do was figure out who it was. And, as he was in no mood to delay, the answer was simple: the next time Oswald turns him down, he stakes out the Iceberg Lounge and follow him wherever he goes. At least he had a plan, now.

 

Still, all his scheming didn’t change the fact that he cried himself to sleep that night.

 

~          ~          ~

 

It was a mere two days before Oswald was once again making his apologies and excuses for not being home that night. Edward smirked to himself as he acted the part of defeated spouse and headed for one of his less conspicuous cars.

 

He entertained himself on the stakeout by brainstorming different traps he could put him and his rival in. Should he let Oswald know he’s behind it? Or should he take a leaf out of his last test of the man’s love and call in a favor with a friend? That might be the safer route. Someone unstable enough for Oswald to believe the danger is real, but stable enough to actually do as Edward says. Mr. Freeze might be good with the whole ‘love’ angle. He would despise cheating, certainly, being still devoted to his wife nearly two decades after her death. Harley might be able to pretend like she was doing it for the Joker, and Edward could trust her. Or perhaps Jonathan? He liked Edward enough, since Edward would always eagerly participate in conversations about psychology and chemistry. And Edward had helped him fake his identity in order to get his degrees in the first place, since ‘Gerald Crane’s crazy son’ wouldn’t have been admitted.

 

His musings were cut off as he spied Oswald leaving the Lounge at a mere five p.m.

 

Edward didn’t know if the anger or the heartbreak weighed on him more.

 

Usually being right felt so much… nicer.

 

Instead of the usual limo, Oswald got into a conspicuous car of his own, driven by a person Edward couldn’t get a good look at. As suspicious as Oswald seemed to be, following him wasn’t difficult. He exited the vehicle in front of an old house in the outskirts of Gotham, not unlike the manor, albeit smaller. Edward felt his gut twist again as Oswald pulled out a key instead of knocking.

 

_He had a key._

 

Shaking off the crushing defeat, Edward parked his own car a little ways away and stalked closer, trying first to peer in through a window to see who he could see.

 

But the only person he saw was Oswald, limping over towards a door that looked like it led to a closet and unlocking _that_ too. Edward couldn’t see what was in it, but based on the way Oswald descended into it, he would assume stairs.

 

Why was Oswald going to the basement?

 

Unable to quell his rising curiosity, Edward knelt in front of the door and picked the lock with as much haste as he could afford to have. Once it was open, he padded silently towards the door that Oswald had unlocked. To his surprise, it was _still_ unlocked.

 

He opened it, glad that it didn’t squeak, and crept down the – frankly freezing – staircase. At the bottom was a hallway, equally chilly, with a door on one side. Perhaps Oswald was seeing one of the numerous cold-themed villains? He tried the handle and found that it, too, was unlocked. Pressing on it gently, he let it swing open just a crack.

 

And then he froze from _surprise_ rather than cold, although there was quite a lot of that, too.

 

The door opened to a balcony, overlooking what was clearly an indoor swimming pool. Water filled the pool, holding up toy rafts, and the entire area around the pool seemed to be either rocks, ice, or snow. Obstacle courses had been built over a part of it, and lining up to jump, waddle, and slide their way through the courses were at _least_ thirty Adélie penguins. Probably fifty or more. Edward was too busy gaping to count. He couldn’t have been more surprised.

 

Until he was.

 

“Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to come in?”

 

Edward jumped, having been unable to see Oswald through the small crack in the door. He thought for a moment that he could still leave, pretend he hadn’t been there, maybe Oswald didn’t know the intruder was _him_ , and –

 

“Ed?”

 

Oh dear.

 

Mustering all the courage he could find, Edward pushed the door open all the way and stepped onto the balcony. Oswald was sitting at the end of the obstacle course, a pocket watch in one hand and a small fish in the other. He wasn’t looking at Edward, only the penguin currently sliding down a metal chute and tumbling out to wiggle into a tunnel.

 

“How did – “

 

“I saw your car following mine approximately two minutes after leaving the Lounge. I can’t say I’m surprised. Are you?”

 

“Very,” Edward said, any other words he might want to say sticking in his throat.

 

“I am sorry about missing so much time with you,” he continued, still watching the penguin, “But I need to train them while they’re still impressionable, or they’ll be completely useless.”

 

Edward took a step closer, leaning on the edge of the balcony, “But why didn’t you just tell me?”

 

Oswald didn’t say anything, waiting for the penguin to waddle happily over to him and accept its fish and tapping a bell for the next penguin to start before answering, “I suppose because I was embarrassed. I smuggled them in on a whim, you see. I didn’t know if they _could_ be trained. And I didn’t want anyone to know if I failed.”

 

Edward hated that he made sense, but mostly he was glad. Oswald wasn’t planning on leaving him at all. He wasn’t in love with anyone else!

 

“What are you training them to do?” he ventured after a moment of watching one struggle to hop it’s way up a miniature wall with mismatched ledges.

 

“Crime, of course,” Oswald replied, “Want to help?”

 

Edward couldn’t help the laughter that burst forth at the question, nodding through his tears as he wheezed out, “I’d love to help.”

 

“Good, then perhaps – if it’s not too much trouble – you could bring me something to eat? There’s a fully stocked fridge upstairs but I’m usually too exhausted to make more than a basic sandwich. I miss your fancy cuisine.”

 

Wiping away the last traces of his happy outburst, Edward nodded, “Fancy cuisine it is.”

 

“Thank you, my love,” Oswald called back to him, and this time, Edward believed he meant it.


	3. Decorations (Nygmobblepot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon divergence where Oswald remains in hiding after the murder of Theo Galavan, staying at Ed's apartment. But as December wears on, Oswald becomes aware that something is missing.

Edward glared at the back of Jim Gordon’s head as he retreated. How had he not been arrested already? Somehow, he’d smooth-talked his way out of the accusations that he’d killed Galavan, even though Barnes was keeping a _much_ closer eye on him. Edward’s mouth twisted into a frown. He’d feel much safer if Jim Gordon was exposed as a criminal – or better yet, criminally insane – and carted off to be incarcerated. He felt somewhat bad for Lee, of course. She didn’t deserve to have her love taken from her.

 

But Gordon had to go. Edward could recall a time, not so long ago, when he’d considered Jim one of his only friends in the world. But it had, finally, become apparent to him just how little he meant to the other. Jim trying to sell him out to Barnes as having harbored the Penguin was just the icing on the cake, he had realized. The real discovery had been one born of observation. It had been painful, watching Oswald try to pretend like Jim was his friend when Edward – the one who actually _cared_ – was right there. How come Oswald couldn’t see how Jim was using him? The way he used everybody, come to think of it! And think of it he did. He wouldn’t be like his friend, clinging onto some long gone hope that maybe, just maybe, he cared. Especially not when a _true_ friend was now at hand.

 

Edward caught himself smiling as he thought about Oswald, an increasingly frequent occurrence these days. After a brief disappearing act while the GCPD searched Edward’s _entire_ – entire! – apartment building, Oswald had returned as a permanent resident over the last couple months. He had nothing left to call his own, nothing save for Edward’s friendship, and Edward was more than willing to help him hide and plot his return. Just as Oswald had helped him to better cover his tracks.

 

But he still worried about Jim’s nosiness. If the detective caught the case and latched on, nothing would stop him until Edward was behind bars. The prospect terrified him. He knew he had the mental illnesses and disorders to easily get an insanity plea, but the horror stories of Arkham hardly enticed him. So if he got any further indication that Gordon was on to him, he’d do everything in his power to discredit him, or at the very least put him away.

 

But until then, he planned to continue doing the (best) work in the GCPD’s forensic department by day and coming home to the Penguin himself at night. Edward had known of his fascination with the Penguin from the start, but it was only now – stopping at an inconvenient convenience store to pick up the _right_ brand of spicy mustard – that he was beginning to be able to admit to himself that the feelings ran a bit deeper than a general respect for the man. He found himself going out of his way for Oswald, desiring his approval and his happiness, even _daydreaming_ in a way he hadn’t since he’d begun pining after Ms. Kringle.

 

Often, his words would replay themselves to him in his dreams. _Love is a weakness_. But perhaps it was only a weakness if the person you loved was fragile, defenseless. Perhaps the lesson Kristen had taught him was not that he couldn’t be a lover, but that he couldn’t be a protector. Perhaps –

 

Or perhaps it was all just wishful thinking. He had no doubt that Oswald could defend himself just fine – that if it came to it, Oswald could easily take him down – but why should Oswald want him back? The process of winning over Kristen had been long and painful and the reward, while everything he’d ever dreamed, too brief to be truly worth the cost. Not that he regretted a thing, he just… wasn’t sure he wanted to try again.

 

He was at his apartment by this time, and he felt an unfamiliar eagerness wash over him as he anticipated another evening spent plotting with Oswald over a nice dinner. When he stepped inside, sliding the door shut behind him, he froze. Oswald was standing in the center of his apartment, hands on his hips, surveying it and frowning.

 

What was wrong? Was something not to his liking? What did he want Edward to do about it? What –

 

Oswald turned at the sound of the door, eyes falling on Edward as his brow furrowed in confusion.

 

“Edward.”

 

“Yes?” Edward gulped. Had _he_ done something not to Oswald’s liking?

 

“What day is it?”

 

Edward opened his mouth in surprise before shaking his head and answering, “The, uh, the twenty-second of December. Why?”

 

“Why haven’t you decorated yet?”

 

“What?” Edward blinked.

 

“I mean, not to assume what you celebrate, but I guess I just thought… whatever it was, you’d decorate for it. Candles? Snowflakes? Trees? But… it looks exactly the same as usual, maybe with a bit of extra frost on the windows.”

 

Edward rocked back onto his heels, biting his lip as he considered his response. Finally, he gave the most honest answer he could, “I’ve never celebrated anything.”

 

“Nothing? I thought even most atheists liked a bit of the aesthetics of the holidays.”

 

Edward shrugged, “It was never a big deal in my house as a child. We all went to evening mass, and Mother had a nativity set that she was, frankly, obsessed with. And I remember distinctly that one year my father actually gave me a piece of coal and told me that even old St. Nick knew which list I belonged on. I think he thought it was funny. He was… rather more fond of Knecht Ruprecht, though.”

 

Oswald was staring at him now and oh, that’s why he didn’t talk about this. Now Oswald would know, he’d know that Edward was –

 

“That’s terrible!”

 

Edward made a noncommittal noise, “They were usually a bit happier during the holidays, at least. It wasn’t _fun_ , but it certainly wasn’t worse than any other time of the year. I just never had an opportunity to celebrate for real. What’s the point of decorating if I’m the only one who’s going to see it? It’s just extra work to remind myself that I’m just as alone as ever.”

 

“But you’re not.”

 

“I’m not what?” Edward blinked. Oswald stepped forward, laying a hand on his upper arm, “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

 

Edward stared down at him, gaping as a warm, soft feeling spread through his chest.

 

“I’m here now.”

 

Edward’s arms moved of their own accord, encircling Oswald’s tiny frame as he repeated, “You’re here.”

 

Oswald, who had initially stiffened at the contact, relaxed and hugged him back, tightly, “I’m here, and I would love nothing more than to celebrate the holidays with you. My mother always made sure this time of the year was special, and I’m,” he paused, voice fading into a faint whisper, “I’m afraid to face them alone.”

 

“Well I guess it does make sense,” Edward nodded, “If we face the season together, then neither of us will be alone and we won’t have that to fear.”

 

_If only we could face the world together the rest of the year, too_ , Edward thought, rather bitterly.

 

“What?”

 

“What?” Oh dear, had he spoken aloud?

 

“Ed, what do you mean?”

 

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean?’?”

 

Oswald was halfway to rolling his eyes before he stopped and replied, “Did you mean together as in, _friends_ , or did you mean… _more?_ ”

 

Edward couldn’t look at his friend, staring determinedly down at his feet as he crossed his arms and worried his bottom lip some more.

 

“Ed?”

 

“Would you be… _very_ upset if I did mean more?”

 

“I – “ Oswald frowned, “Upset? Why would I be upset?”

 

“Because it’s – it’s – it’s _presumptuous!_ I’m just Ed, the forensics weirdo that nobody likes, how dare I presume to – to even _think_ of the Penguin in such a way? I – “

 

“Ed!” Oswald cut him off sharply before purposefully softening his tone and demeanor, “Ed, listen to me. I’m not upset at all. First of all, you are not just ‘the forensics weirdo’, you are my _friend._ And second, I don’t quite know how I feel, actually. No one’s ever been – interested – before. I don’t have an answer for you, but – if, hypothetically, you did mean more – I think I’d like to give it a shot.”

 

“You would?” Edward’s eyes widened as he gasped quietly, taking a half step back.

 

Oswald held up his hand, placatingly, “I’m sorry if that offended you, som – “

 

“No!” Edward broke in before he could take back his words, “No, I just, I never imagined… “

 

A look of understanding crossed Oswald’s face.

 

“I know,” he agreed, “Me neither.”

 

Oswald gave him another moment before reaching out to catch his hand and bring it up to his lips for a kiss. Edward was about ready to swoon.

 

“Now since I’m a little too wanted to take you on the dates you deserve, how about we settle for a nice meal in and some last minute decorating together, hmm? It shouldn’t be too difficult. I mean, color-wise, you’re already halfway there,” he said, gesturing at the green light bathing the apartment.

 

Edward smiled conspiratorially as he laced their fingers together, “You’ll have lots to show me on that front.”

 

Oswald scoffed, although he squeezed Edward’s hand to reassure him that he was joking, “I have lots to show you on _every_ front.”

 

Normally, Edward would be offended by the implied lack of understanding on his part. But under the circumstances, he felt more like smiling and replying, “I look forward to it.”


	4. A Friend in the Dark (Nygmobblepot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Gordon has a strange warning about Edward's new boyfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, it's been awhile since I've read anything from the Dark is Rising series, and this is a loose interpretation anyways, so don't expect accuracy if you're familiar with the books. If not, enjoy it anyway.
> 
> Also, fair warning, i haven't even done a second read-through of this, so there are probably a few mistakes

Edward did not receive visitors. It wasn’t that he was against them, or refused to have them, it was just that no one _wanted_ to visit. No one until Oswald, of course. He glanced over his shoulder at the smaller, angular man currently helping himself to one of Edward’s freshly baked rolls. More often than not, these days, Oswald stayed over at his apartment. Edward hadn’t actually seen _his_ home yet, but he supposed Oswald might be embarrassed by it. From what he had said about his childhood, he had grown up poor. One of the first things Edward had noticed about him was the way he portrayed himself as wealthy even without the resources to do it properly. He admired that, but maybe Oswald was nervous anyway. He could understand.

 

But the point was, Oswald was, at present, standing in his kitchen.

 

So who on _earth_ could be knocking on the door?

 

Shaking himself out of his shock, Edward strode across the room to said door and slid it open a crack. On his doorstep was none other than Detective James Gordon, one of his few palatable colleagues.

 

“Detective?”

 

He felt more than saw Oswald freeze behind him, and he could have sworn the room dropped a few degrees in temperature.

 

“Hey, Ed,” Jim greeted, “I know it’s kind of late, and I know we aren’t exactly on late night house call terms, but I had a favor to ask.”

 

“Yes?” Edward asked, perhaps a touch too eagerly. He’d always wanted to be ‘one of the boys’, and if that meant going out of his way to be useful, then so be it.

 

“At the crime scene today, the girl – “

 

“The one with her heart carved out?”

 

Jim cringed, “Yeah, that one. Did she – was there – did you find a, um, a pendant of some sort? Like a circle with a cross?”

 

Edward frowned, thinking over the evidence he’d examined that afternoon, “Made of iron?”

 

“Yes, that’s the one!” Jim took a step forward, causing Edward to take a surprised step back. He strode into the apartment, hands clasped together, “Where did you put it?”

 

“In a bag. In a box. With all the other evidence. There’s a procedure we have to follow, you _do_ know that, right?” he accidentally let his tone become clipped. It was something he had noticed while working with the GCPD. The cops had _no_ sense of crime scene propriety. They picked up evidence willy-nilly, tossed it around with their bare hands, he wouldn’t be surprised if he one day witnessed one licking blood off the wall and declaring it to be ‘orc’.

 

“Yes, yes, I know. The thing is… I need it.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“I need the cross. For – for the investigation. We think this murder may be connected to some other cases in the past, and we think those crosses might be… keys! Yeah, we think they’re keys to some cult’s headquarters.”

 

“Keys,” Edward deadpanned.

 

“C’mon, Ed, you said you’d do me a favor,” Jim wheedled, his natural likability swaying Edward against his will.

 

“I – I – alright,” he sighed, “Come by my lab tomorrow, I’ll have it for you.”

 

Jim hesitated, maybe weighing the risk of demanding they go immediately, before he sighed and clapped Edward on the shoulder, “Good man, Ed. You’re helping me save lives. Remember that.”

 

“I’m sure,” a sarcastic voice nearly purred from the direction of the kitchen, making both Jim and Edward jump.

 

Jim spun on his heel, locking eyes with the Penguin, “You!”

 

“Me,” Oswald replied, leaning casually back against the counter. He tore a roll in half, offering one piece to the detective, “Want some?”

 

“Never! What are you doing – “

 

Oswald tossed the bread aside, striding towards Jim. Edward blinked, and when had Jim gotten to the door? And why did Jim know Oswald?

 

“I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” he said, wanting answers and hoping that at least _one_ would have the courtesy to answer him.

 

“Of course,” Oswald answered, “Jim and I go _way_ back. He’s an _old_ friend.”

 

Edward frowned as Oswald winked at the other, but Jim just scowled, “We are _not_ friends, Penguin.”

 

“Jim,” he gasped, placing a hand over his heart, “You wound me.”

 

“You’ll live,” he snarled, before glancing at Edward, “Don’t you _dare_ lay a finger on him.”

 

Oswald took his own turn to scowl, “I think you’ll find someone has already done that. Multiple someones. Some of whom you consider colleagues. It is not _I_ whom Edward should fear, _James_.”

 

“Just you wait, Penguin. One of these days…”

 

Oswald’s cold laughter followed Jim out of the apartment, “You’ll _what?_ Sing a sad song? You picked the losing side, James, but there’s still time…”

 

“Never,” was the reply that came floating back.

 

Edward frowned at Oswald as he slid the door shut and asked, “What was all that?”

 

Oswald’s cruel expression melted away and he pulled Edward into his arms, “Never you mind, darling. Come, let’s go to bed.”

 

“Wait, I’m serious,” Edward turned in his grip to face him, “What’s going on?”

 

“Please don’t concern yourself, love. There are some… tense relationships beneath the surface of Gotham. I – “ he glanced away, “There’s a risk. Being with you is a risk. There are those who would use you against me, but… “ he reached up to stroke Edward’s cheek, looking him deep in the eyes at last, “I promise you, I will keep you safe.”

 

Edward kissed him, then, mostly satisfied with the answer and more than pleased. He put the matter to the back of his mind and allowed Oswald to take him to bed.

 

~          ~          ~

 

“Ed?” there was a knock on the inside of his doorframe, causing him to glance up.

 

“Detective Gordon?”

 

“Do you – “ he glanced back towards Essen’s office, “Do you have it?”

 

Edward frowned but nodded, pointing at an inconspicuous yellow-orange envelope, “It’s in there.”

 

“Thank you, so much,” Jim said, actually looking at him, “Ed – can we talk for a moment? Privately?”

 

Edward glanced around, confused, before nodding, “I – I suppose.”

 

Jim closed and locked the door to the laboratory, glancing out the window before pulling the blinds down on that, too.

 

“Detective, what - ?”

 

“It’s about Oswald.”

 

“Detec – “

 

Jim held up a hand, “Please. I wanted to ask… how long have you known him?”

 

“About… seven weeks, now,” he responded, nodding with certainty after a moment.

 

“And he stays with you a lot?”

 

“I know it’s a little fast, but we’ve clicked and I’ve waited my whole life for someone and I’m _done_ waiting and – “

 

“Ed, Ed that’s not what I’m talking about,” he glanced around again before leaning closer and whispering, “If I told you a secret, could I trust you to keep it that way?”

 

Edward nodded, “You can.”

 

“Good. What I’m about to tell you… it won’t sound believable. You might not believe it. You probably won’t want to. But… for your sake, I beg you to listen. I’m only saying this because I’m worried about you.”

 

“Detective…?”

 

“This is based in old lore and mythology. Two sides, the Light and the Dark, opposing forces caught in a battle that spans all of time. The Dark is strongest this time of year, during a thing called the Wild Hunt. I know this, because I am of the Light. What many people call the Old Ones. Penguin, I mean Oswald… he is one of the Dark. The Lord of the Hunt, to be precise. Do you ever experience moments of fuzziness, and when you blink, Oswald is somewhere else and you don’t know how he got there? That’s because of this. And – I hesitate to say this, because I really do think you l – care about him, but… the last time we met, before last night… he said he was going to convert me. He said he would do that by working his way into my inner circle, using the people close to me as leverage. There – There is a chance he’s just using you as a means to convert or fight me. I’m sorry, Ed, there’s know easy way to say it.”

 

Edward stared at him, gaping in shock. Surely, _surely_ this was all a lie? But _why?_ What purpose would such a lie have? And besides… those moments of fuzziness? Oswald only ever meeting at _Edward’s_ place? Oswald asking on multiple occasions if Edward would just let him bring him lunch at work? The pieces were all there…

 

“How can I know? There must be some way for me to test if you’re lying or not.”

 

“Holly.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Holly boughs. Put them over every door and window. They keep the Hunt out. If I’m telling the truth – which I am – and you do that, Peng – Oswald will only be able to enter if you invite him in. Be careful what you say to him, though. I don’t know what loopholes he might be able to find. Say nothing that could in any way be construed as an invitation.”

 

“I…” Edward frowned, looking off to the side as he considered this, “Alright, I’ll try it. But for the record, I think this is ridiculous.”

 

“Well, if it is, then you’ll have some nice holiday decorations.”

 

“I suppose so…”

 

~          ~          ~

 

The holly was set, Oswald would be home any minute from… wherever it was he went off to during the day, and Edward was ready to prove that Oswald was just his boyfriend, not some dark lord or other.

 

A knock on the door signaled his return, and Edward swung the door open with a smile, stepping back to allow Oswald in. Oswald took a half step, before stopping. Edward swore he saw a frown flicker across his face before it was replaced with an amused grin, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

 

Edward felt his blood go cold, heart sinking as he, too, played off amused, “Do you need me to?”

 

“It’s polite.”

 

“I think – “ Edward paused to arrange his words, “that we are past polite by now. Surely you know that.”

 

Oswald swallowed, and even Edward, with his terrible social skills, could tell his laughter was forced, “Entertain me, then. It’s just an invitation.”

 

“Do you need it, though?” Edward felt his composure slipping, the words growing colder and more bitter than he wanted.

 

“Edward,” Oswald’s eyes widened, and he laughed again, “Really?”

 

“Answer me, Oswald. And don’t lie. _Please_ ,” his voice trailed into a whispered plea. He knew Oswald had heard him.

 

Oswald sighed and closed his eyes, “Jim spoke with you.”

 

It wasn’t a question.

 

“Oswald – “

 

“No, Ed, please, let me explain – “

 

“What is there to explain?! You used me! I – I – I was just some _pawn_ in your game, just a means to get to one of your enemies off the board. He told me you were behind the girl with the missing heart, too. Was that what you planned to do with me, when you were done? Rip out anything useful and leave the rest behind? Are you going to do that to me now? The moment I set foot outside? I _trusted_ you, Oswald.”

 

Were it not for the tears streaming down his face and the fact that he’d pulled his glasses off to rub at them, he might have seen that Oswald was crying, too.

 

“Ed, no, I – “

 

“You, _what_ , Oswald?” Edward asked, his tone utterly defeated as he sank back on his heels, all but falling against the side of his couch and wrapping his arms around his knees. Oswald’s heart clenched at the sound, “I, alright, you want the truth?”

 

“Obviously!”

 

“Okay, well the truth is, _yes_. That was my intention. You were the weakest link attached to James Gordon, the most likely of the Light to sway. You were lonely and desperate and sad, so I targeted you. And yes, I fully intended to kill you once you had either served your purpose or failed,” his voice faltered at the sounds of Edward sobbing, wishing he could get past the wards to comfort him, “But I – “

 

“But _what_?”

 

“But I didn’t have a contingency for falling in love,” Oswald replied softly.

 

Edward’s head snapped up, vision blurred more than usual with tears to the point that Oswald was just a dark blob in his doorway. He fumbled with his glasses, jamming them over his face to get a better look and try to determine if – _if what was he talking about, of course Oswald was lying_ – he was lying.

 

“I’m sorry, Ed,” Oswald sank down to the floor, leaning against the door as he crossed his legs as best he could, “I thought about telling you more than once, but… I was ashamed. And I was afraid you would hate me,” he gave an empty chuckle, “I guess I couldn’t stop that from happening either way. Trust me, I more than deserve to be hated. Especially by you. I just thought – I don’t know what I thought. I just wanted to keep you. But the Fair Maiden always escapes the Hunter with the dawn, doesn’t she? That’s the way the story goes. I don’t know why I expected it to change for me.”

 

Edward stared down at his hands, turning the words over and over in his mind. He couldn’t find fault, but Oswald was a far better liar than he was a lie detector. Still, what were his options? He could invite him in, or he could not. If Oswald was lying, he would kill him the moment he crossed the threshold, or the moment Edward left the apartment himself. If he was telling the truth… Edward could let him back in and have what he wanted, or he could not and continue being lonely.

 

Logic was always his best friend.

 

If Oswald was lying, Edward was a dead man walking, one way or another. So… he might as well take a chance. He’d always held Pascal in contempt, but under the current circumstances, the idea held water.

 

Oswald had just pulled himself to his feet, prepared to walk away, when Edward whispered, “Come in.”

 

He froze.

 

“What?”

 

“Come in, Oswald,” Edward’s voice cracked on the last syllable, and he didn’t get up from his place against the couch.

 

Oswald turned, and very carefully took a step through the doorway. He swallowed down his emotion and hurried to kneel down in front of Edward’s curled up form, gently but firmly extracting his hands in order to hold them.

 

“I swear to you, Ed, I swear by my own power – may it fail me if I’m lying – that I mean this. I love you. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did, and I don’t regret it! I love you, Edward, and I will stay until you kick me out. And I wasn’t lying to Jim last night, either. I will never lay a finger on you, certainly not without your consent, and you have _no_ need to fear me. I will protect you.”

 

Edward watched his face the entire time, and he could find no lie. Besides, he was still alive, wasn’t he?

 

With another sob, he launched himself forward, into Oswald’s arms. Oswald’s hand was on his back immediately, soothing up and down while he made soft hushing noises, pressing kisses into Edward’s hair.

 

When he finally calmed down, Edward wiped the last tears from his face, stood, and straightened his clothes. It was still deeply ingrained in him that such emotional breakdowns were shameful, although Oswald hadn’t seemed to mind having to comfort him.

 

Later that night, sometime during dessert, Edward glanced at Oswald and blurted out, “I love you, too.”

 

Oswald set his parfait dish full of mousse down and grinned, slowly.

 

“This weekend – “ he began, cutting himself off.

 

“Yes?”

 

Oswald took a deep breath, “Let me take you to my hunting cottage.”

 

“To your home?”

 

“One of them, yes. I can show you the palace, too, if you like? The cottage is just… more homey. And private. But then again… maybe you would like to help?”

 

“Help with what?”

 

“Running my dark magic empire, of course.”

 

Edward’s jaw dropped.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You want _me?_ To help _you?_ ”

 

“Yes,” Oswald nodded, “You’re brilliant. And I don’t want to keep secrets from you anymore. The easiest way to do that is to bring you into my operation. You would be my right hand, of course, demanding the utmost respect. So, what do you say?”

 

Edward’s grin grew into a smirk, “Sounds fun.”

 

“I knew you were perfect for me,” Oswald sighed dreamily, “Shall we retire? We have quite the day of traversing through scenic, snow-laden woods ahead of us.”

 

“A marvelous plan,” Edward agreed, returning what was left of the mousse to the fridge and taking Oswald’s hand as they retreated to the bed. He curled up under the covers, and soon enough Oswald’s form enveloped him as it always did. Keeping him safe, always, as he walked with a friend in the Dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you guys think? I had fun writing it, but did you have fun reading it?


	5. Muscle Memory (Scriddler)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan realizes he hasn't heard from Edward in a long time and finds him asleep in his lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Gotham, for obvious reasons
> 
> Also this is probably a little too focused on Jonathan, but I've never really written him before, so I'm trying to figure out how to write him. On that note, a lot of this was inspired or influenced by other scriddler fics, since I have more access to them than I do the comics. 
> 
> Sorry it was a little late, I fell asleep on my homework last night and had classes up til now. There should still be another fic later tonight, assuming I don't fall asleep again.

It was well past three in the morning when Jonathan realized he had not heard Edward’s usual ‘goodnight’ statements. Being something of a light sleeper and full-time insomniac, he rarely headed to bed before four, but Edward was a different case entirely. On the off-chance that he had missed the man – having been too lost in thought or some such thing – Jonathan checked their bed first. His suspicions were confirmed when he found it empty. Sighing, Jonathan resigned himself to walking the long, winding staircase down to his partner’s lab.

 

He would, of course, be lying if he said he didn’t understand why Edward had to be so dramatic about his place of work, but that didn’t stop him from wishing it were otherwise. In his heart, he truly didn’t wish for Edward to change. He loved him, drama, flair, and all. Yet it could be _incredibly_ exhausting.

 

When he was sufficiently far down to see around the so-called ‘lair’, his spindly fingers curled tight around the cool metal railing as he leaned out, he spotted Edward slumped over his desk, one hand loosely covering some device or other, the other dangling above a fallen screwdriver. His face was pressed into a book that did not look nearly soft enough to be a proper substitute for a pillow, while his glasses pressed dents into his forehead. Jonathan sighed again, a disturbingly fond sound, and walked back up into the main complex of their shared home.

 

He was a notoriously cold person – physically, although he supposed he would also qualify as being cold emotionally – and even he could feel the winter chill seeping into the laboratory. It was not necessary to check Edward’s temperature in order to determine if the cold had made him numb. That was likely the reason why he had not come to bed as usual – he would have seen the stiffness in his fingers as a challenge to overcome, seeking to prove his superiority to nature itself, rather than stopping at a sensible point.

 

Not that Jonathan was one to talk about stopping at sensible points.

 

Before he knew it, he had all the ingredients lined up on the counter.

 

One and one half cups of milk.

 

Three tablespoons of sweetened cocoa powder.

 

One and one half tablespoons of milk chocolate chips.

 

One eighth teaspoon of cinnamon.

 

Two teaspoons of cream.

 

One teaspoon of maple syrup.

 

He stared at the lineup, hardly recalling the effort it took to put it there.

 

Muscle memory. How quaint.

 

With the same efficiency and – dare he say? – absent-mindedness, Jonathan heated the milk and began combining the ingredients, allowing the chocolate to melt, the maple and cinnamon to flavor, and the cream to froth before pouring it all into a large mug. Edward’s favorite. It was shaped like a teddy bear, but dressed as the Riddler himself. Jonathan had found it at a pawn shop while stealing something of far greater consequence and had reluctantly realized how much joy Edward would get out of it. He had, of course, been right.

 

Carrying the mug down the stairs with care, he set it before the still snoozing supervillain. He placed one hand on Edward’s back, lightly, waiting for the sickeningly sweet scent to waft close enough to rouse him. It took mere seconds.

 

Edward raised his head slowly, blinking as his glasses slipped back into place, revealing two red dents from the nosepieces. Jonathan couldn’t resist reaching out with one finger to smooth over them, feeling the unnatural texture in the skin.

 

“J – Jon?”

 

“Yes, Ed?”

 

“Wh – “ he glanced around, “What time is it?”

 

“Approaching four. In the morning; I haven’t left you here all day.”

 

“Oh,” his eyes finally caught on the mug of cocoa, “Thank you, Jon.”

 

“My pleasure,” he said quietly, knowing with unsettling certainty that he meant it, “It has begun to snow.”

 

Edward blinked at him over the rim of the mug as he sipped its contents. After a long swallow, he asked, “And?”

 

“I was thinking of watching it. I find it… calming.”

 

Edward frowned at him for a few seconds before his lips parted into a wide, lazy grin, “Are you asking me to join you?”

 

“Well, you need to go upstairs and warm up, and I – “

 

“Wanted my company, I know,” Edward smiled up at him, attempting to drape himself over the other man, even in his still-numb state, “I’m just popular like that. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

 

“Mm-hmm,” Jonathan replied indulgently, extracting himself at the same time he pulled Edward to his feet. He looped an arm around the man’s waist, allowing Edward to lean against him as they moved, carrying the mug for fear of it slipping from Edward’s fingers. Edward would be distraught if it shattered, and Jonathan hated making Edward distraught, especially if it meant he would cry (which it nearly always did). Jonathan only liked tears when he intended to cause them. He still felt utterly lost every time the responsibility of curing them fell to him. He knew there had been a time when he cried, and he knew he had wished for something during that time, but he could no longer recall what it was.

 

At long last they made it to the ground floor, and Jonathan found Edward perfectly pliant as he guided him towards the conservatory. He deposited him on one of the cushioned, wicker couches, handing him the mug once he had wrapped both hands around it, and lighting a fire in the small wood stove in the center of the room. Once he was sure the room would be warm enough, he sat down beside Edward, leaving approximately an inch and a half between them. Edward glared at the gap before falling against Jonathan’s side and encouraging him to wrap an arm around him. Jonathan reached up to scratch Edward’s scalp, knowing it would be more effective in making him comfortable. Jonathan did not possess the warmth necessary to aide in Edward’s thawing process.

 

They sat in silence, a rarity where Edward was concerned, for nearly fifteen minutes before Edward’s jaw warmed up enough to start moving again.

 

“It really is calming,” he said, causing Jonathan to jump slightly as he was pulled out of his musings.

 

His eyes refocused on the gently falling flakes, the perfect size and with the perfect speed to give the feeling of being inside a giant snow globe. An image frozen in time, an image of peace and tranquility. He frowned when he realized Edward had said no more, having expected him to launch into whatever topic most interested him at that moment.

 

Glancing down, he realized why, and he felt his lips curl against his will. Edward had finished his cocoa, leaving the mug on an end table, before curling up in Jonathan’s lap and falling asleep under the relaxing ministrations of Jonathan’s fingers in his hair.

 

Curled up as he was, Jonathan had less issue picking him up and carrying him the short distance to their bedroom before returning to put out the fire. He left the mug in the sink, being less concerned with cleanliness than Edward was, and joined him. Unlike Edward, who had to be carefully stripped of one of his precious green suits, Jonathan had only to shuck his flannel over shirt and jeans before climbing into bed beside him. Once upon a time he had thought dressing well would be the making of him, but he no longer had to resort to such basic techniques to manipulate people the way he desired, so why should he not dress comfortably? At least, that was what he told Edward every time the other man gave him hell for it.

 

Wrapped around Edward’s slightly smaller form, Jonathan closed his eyes, thought of the falling snow, and finally drifted off to sleep.


	6. (Baby) It's Cold Outside (Nygmobblepot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a shit ton of tropes piled together, from 'Friends to Enemies to Lovers' to 'Sharing a Bed' to 'Huddling for Warmth'. That's it, really, just tropes.

“Look, it’s just until the storm slows down,” Oswald snapped, peering out through the ancient lace curtains of the cottage they’d recently broken into. Edward was pacing angrily around the living room, glaring – or rather pouting – at the floor.

 

“I still don’t like it. We’re only supposed to be together to stop the Joker from ruining our respective careers, nothing else. I don’t want to – “

 

“You think I _do?_ Dear god, Nygma, you’re so self-centered these days.”

 

“Well once upon a time I offered _anything and everything_ to someone else and look where it got me.”

 

“You may have offered, but you _hardly_ meant it! All I wanted was to be the most important person in your life! I didn’t ask you to risk your life for me, all I asked was that you return some of the love I felt for you!”

 

“Except you didn’t.”

 

“What?”

 

“You didn’t _ask_ me. You _demanded_.”

 

Oswald scoffed, “Would that have made a difference? I – “

 

“Yes.”

 

Oswald paused, before shaking his head and asking, “What?”

 

“If you had just _asked_ , I would have given you _anything_ ,” Edward mumbled at the floor, sleep deprivation, cold, and general irritation squeezing the truth from him.

 

Oswald could say nothing, only staring at his friend-turned-crush-turned-enemy as he reevaluated his decisions over the last few years. But while his brain was in shock, Edward’s was catching up. He clapped a hand over his mouth, whispering, “Oh dear,” to himself before glaring at Oswald, “I’m done talking to you.”

 

Oswald watched as he stormed off towards what was presumably the bedroom and (predictably) slammed the door. Oswald shrugged and sat down on the couch in front of the empty fireplace. He cursed his luck when he realized there was no firewood and the thing was old enough to need it. He hoped the blizzard would calm down, soon, since he _really_ didn’t want to spend more time with Edward than he had to. One of these days, Edward was going to notice. He was going notice that Oswald was still completely and utterly in love with him, and who knew _what_ he’d do once he knew that. Oswald stared at his hands for awhile before deciding that he may as well lie down and take a nap. There was at least _one_ of his current problems he could cure.

 

~          ~          ~

 

Oswald didn’t know how long he’d been asleep when he was rudely awakened by being shoved off the couch.

 

“What the - ?!”

 

“Oh, so you are alive,” Edward’s voice said from somewhere above him, and for some odd reason Oswald couldn’t make out, it was shaking. As if he’d recently had a scare. Perhaps a nightmare?

 

“Why’d you have to do that?”

 

“You would have frozen to death. I still need you – r money.”

 

“Frozen… to death?”

 

“The blizzard’s only gotten worse,” Edward grumbled matter-of-factly, “And there’s no heating, no electricity, nothing. Not even candles.”

 

Oswald had thought it seemed rather dark…

 

“So what do we do?”

 

“Normally I’d say we flee, but as it happens, we’re snowed in.”

 

“We’re what?”

 

“Snowed in.”

 

“No, I heard you,” Oswald twiddled his thumbs, hoping Edward was as oblivious as ever, “But you didn’t answer my question. What now?”

 

“We have to keep ourselves warm,” Edward swallowed hard, not making eye contact.

 

“And…?”

 

“There’s a few blankets, but not enough to keep us alive.”

 

“So we’re dead?”

 

“Not – not necessarily.”

 

“Then what?” Oswald asked, exasperated, “Spit it out. And no riddles!”

 

“I – fine,” he sighed, before mumbling almost too faintly to hear, “Body heat.”

 

Oswald felt a chill that had nothing to do with the blizzard, “I’m sorry?”

 

“We have to share body heat, okay?” Edward ground out like a petulant child.

 

Oswald resisted the urge to laugh aloud. It disappeared quickly, however, as another thought raced through his mind, “We – we don’t have to be… _naked_ , do we?”

 

Edward tensed up beside him, “Not – not yet. But depending on how long the storm lasts…”

 

“I – I see.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well, we may as well…” he gestured vaguely towards the blankets and the couch, “Unless the bed?”

 

“The bed _would_ have more room,” Edward allowed, reluctantly, “Although we shouldn’t fall asleep at the same time. It’s dangerous.”

 

“Alright,” Oswald nodded, feeling generous, “How long was I asleep for?”

 

Edward glanced at his watch, “Probably about thirty to forty minutes.”

 

“Alright, well you can sleep first, since I’ll be good for another couple hours.”

 

“If – if you’re sure,” Edward murmured. Oswald noted the discomfort in his expression and he relented, “Look, there are some things I said that are still between us, but you shouldn’t worry. It’ll be just like it was back at your apartment. I wouldn’t – I wouldn’t _do_ anything.”

 

Edward nodded slowly, “Okay.”

 

Oswald followed him to the bedroom and helped him lay every blanket in the house onto it, layering the fuzzy ones and the smooth ones to better trap the heat.

 

Neither spoke as they got in on opposite sides of the bed, awkwardly moving towards each other until the warmth started to seep in and their discomfort was outweighed by need. Soon enough they were curled around each other, and Oswald honestly couldn’t say he minded as he watched Edward drift off to sleep.

 

~          ~          ~

 

“Do you think they’re banging, yet?” Harley asked the other two. Ivy scrunched up her face, still feeling a familial bond towards Oswald, even if it was the antagonistic sort of family feeling these days. Fries just shook his head, increasing the massive boost he’d given to the natural snowstorm, “Nygma’s smart. He’ll know how long it’s safe for them to keep their clothes on, and they’re too stubborn to admit to anything before _that_. We’ve got to keep this up for another four hours, at least. Probably six to eight, to be safe.”

 

“Want to play another round, then?” Ivy asked, holding up the deck of cards Harley had brought.

 

“Deal me in.”


	7. The Wrong Words (Nygmobblepot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College!AU Soulmate!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wrote this & I am extremely tired, so I hope there aren't any glaring errors, but no promises

Edward huffed in annoyance and pulled his deteriorating coat closer around himself, pretending it did anything to ward off the bitter chill of the winter gusts. His hands were jammed under his arms to prevent his fingers from losing all feeling, and he thanked the universe that at least his scarf was warm. This was _not_ how he had imagined spending the holidays, freezing to death as he trudged throw a foot and a half of snow in _tennis_ shoes to reach the big box store that was still open at eleven-thirty, even three days before Christmas. No, he’d planned on spending the holidays holed up in a cheap motel, building the next generation of robots.

 

And then his screwdriver, the one he had taken with him when he ran away nearly a year ago, had snapped in half.

 

A quick supply run hadn’t seemed like a bad idea at the time. In fact, Edward had realized he was short on food, and ought to pick up something to snack on while he worked.

 

But starvation would have been _far_ better than this, he decided.

 

Finally, _finally_ he reached the automatic doors of the store, stumbling inside and feeling immediate shock as the warm air hit his frozen limbs. His skin felt as if it were on fire and he began to push up his sleeves, before he remembered what was written on his arm.

 

A soulmate’s first words were supposed to be treasured. Sweet, perhaps, or the mundane made magical by association.

 

Edward couldn’t imagine a scenario in which, “Mind where you’re going, you disrespectful dolt!” could possibly be _magical_. Those words, which his parents had time and again used against him, were the greatest fear of his life. Since running away, he had finally discovered life without constant ridicule, a life that belonged to _him_. He didn’t want to have to give himself to _another_ person that just wanted an outlet for their anger. Even if that meant condemning himself to loneliness in a world where everyone believed in ‘the one’.

 

So no, Edward could not roll his sleeves up, no matter how badly his skin burned at the contrast in temperatures. Forcing the discomfort down, he strode with a single-minded purpose towards the tool isles.

 

~          ~          ~

 

Oswald sank back against the counter as yet another mother stormed from the store after threatening to report him for daring to suggest they might be out of her precious child’s dream toy. Or for suggesting her coupons were expired. Or for having ‘dreadful goth hair’.

 

When the _fuck_ would the holidays be over? He remembered a time when Christmas was a joyous occasion, when his mother would sing carols and bake traditional Hungarian Christmas cookies.

 

But now…? Now the holidays were nothing more than the worst stretch of the year, the same ten songs drilled into his brain and an endless slew of terrible customers.

 

The last woman, though, Oswald had damn near slit her throat. How _dare_ she use his soulmate mark against him? How dare she even _look at it?_

 

His thumb traced over it, once more hidden beneath the sleeve of his button down. He knew those four words by heart, would never be able to forget them. If it weren’t for them, he would have entered the much more appealing world of crime, instead of standing here, miserable, in an overcrowded box store.

 

_Please don’t hurt me._

 

Every time he thought on them, he burned with shame for a wrong he hadn’t even committed. Yet. But he _would_ – that was the point. No matter what he did, he would eventually do _something_. Something horrible, something that would terrify the person he was supposed to love and cherish and _care for_.

 

His mother had told him, time and time again, that she was not ashamed of him, but he still caught her worried looks every time she though he wasn’t paying attention. He wanted to be mad at his soulmate, for making his mother question her parenting skills, but being mad at his soulmate was _precisely_ what he wasn’t supposed to do.

 

He jumped when he felt a hand tap his shoulder before realizing it was only Ivy, his co-worker.

 

“Need a break?”

 

“Ivy, we don’t _have_ breaks – “

 

“I didn’t mean a _break_ break,” she waved her hands, “I meant a break from the checkout lines. I can take over for you if you’d rather restock for a bit.”

 

“Oh,” Oswald paused to think it over for a moment, “Alright. Good luck with the crazies.”

 

“I don’t need luck,” Ivy grinned, “I have _charm_.”

 

“What, and I don’t?” Oswald retorted, mildly offended.

 

“Oh, sure, you could talk the skin off a cat, but you just can’t pull of sweet little girl the same way I can,” she smirked.

 

“Uh-huh. Anyways, good luck,” Oswald waved and hurried off to begin his new task before someone yelled at him for slacking off.

 

~          ~          ~

 

Edward bit his lip, stepping forward to examine the details on the packaging of the cheapest set of screwdrivers. It was only a dollar less than a much better quality set, but then again what about _variety?_ He frowned, continuing to worry at his lip as he took the same step back to get a better look at all his options at once.

 

But instead of widening his viewing range, he stumbled as he stepped on something that was distinctly _not_ the smooth, hard floor of the store. He lost his balance and tumbled backwards and sideways, hands flying out to try and grab something and accidentally latching onto something soft. Fabric.

 

He let go immediately but it was too late; both he and the other person hit the ground with loud, painful ‘thud’s. Picking himself up swiftly and absent-mindedly dusting off his ragged clothes, Edward opened his mouth to apologize when the employee rounded on him and screamed, “Mind where you’re going, you disrespectful dolt! I don’t _care_ that it’s the holidays, I don’t care _whose_ gift is going to be late, I! DON’T! CARE!”

 

Edward’s instincts kicked in too fast for him to recognize the words and he fell into old habits, holding up his arms defensively over his face and lowering himself to the ground in attempted submission, begging, “ _Please!_ Don’t hurt me!”

 

He cowered back against the shelf as the man took a step towards him rage still present on his face.

 

“Please,” he whimpered, curling in on himself, shielding himself against everything, including sight.

 

He waited but felt nothing. Heard nothing. Until –

 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, please, forgive me,” the words were whispered in a rush, and Edward didn’t have time to make sense of them before a strong pair of hands grasped his own, pulling them away from his head.

 

“Shh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell, it’s okay,” he murmured soothing phrases as he placed a hand under Edward’s chin, raising it with a slight pressure, “Look at me.”

 

Edward forced his eyes open, instantly meeting a pair of pale green ones, and it all finally clicked.

 

“ _You!”_

 

The man smiled, standing up and taking a step back, offering his hand to help Edward up. Edward stared at it for approximately four seconds before hauling himself to his feet and bolting, screwdrivers be damned.

 

“Wait! Don’t go, please!”

 

Something in the desperation of the plea struck Edward and against his will, he stopped. The shorter man caught up to him, reaching towards his arm but not actually grabbing it.

 

“I’m Oswald,” he offered.

 

Edward swallowed before replying, “Edward.”

 

“Why did you run, Edward?” Oswald asked, peering at him with more curiosity than anything else. Edward was surprised, having expected some form of wrath. Surely he was about to be beaten for spurning him.

 

Unwilling to just sit back and accept his fate, Edward did the first thing that came to mind and pushed up his sleeve, hissing, “Wouldn’t you run too?” as he shoved the words in his soulmate’s face.

 

Oswald’s face drained  of what color it seemed to have, and he caught Edward’s hand lightly in his fingers as he read the words. He guided the hand up to his lips, brushing over the back of it, and said, “I am so sorry. Again. You don’t have to be afraid of me, I promise. At least give me a shot.”

 

“I – I – Alright,” Edward sighed. He knew he would regret it if he _didn’t_ , after all.

 

“Thank you,” Oswald breathed, “By the way, weren’t you looking to purchase something? Or were you just examining our tool collection?”

 

“I need a screwdriver for Christmas.”

 

Oswald blinked.

 

“You – you need it?”

 

“Well, mostly. My holiday plans involve tinkering on robots, so it _would_ be useful.”

 

Oswald frowned, “Your holiday plans?

 

“Yes?”

 

“It’s just… that doesn’t sound very festive.”

 

“I’ve never really… done ‘festive’ before.”

 

There was a pause, before Oswald licked his lips and said, “You could always join me for my Christmas dinner.”

 

“You mean that?” Edward’s eyes lit up.

 

“Of course I mean it.”

 

Perhaps they could both have a Merry Christmas after all.


	8. Glisten and Glitter (Nygmobblepot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward realizes he has been excluded from the GCPD Christmas party and decides to do something about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is _hardly_ a holiday fic, but @freckledandspectacled and I built this entire au last night and it was too good to ignore. I hope I didn't rush it *too* much. Also, credit where credit is due, I lifted a number of the lines directly from said conversation, so some lines actually belong to them. 
> 
> Basically: what would happen if Ed had gotten his glitter suit during season 1

Edward slumped against his usual chair, hands twisting in the soft red fabric of the hat he’d brought, staring at a blank patch of desk to hold back the tears that they, frankly, didn’t deserve. He should have expected this. He should have anticipated it and made a contingency plan, should have tailed one of the officers, should have –

 

_But would that have done you any good? What if you had followed someone there? Then you’d just be in the corner of a party, surrounded by people who don’t want you, who don’t even_ notice _you._

 

It was true. Only the cruelest of the officers went out of their way to ridicule him. Mostly they just forgot. Until they needed something, of course. What had he been thinking, trying to go to the precinct’s Christmas party?

 

He buried his face in the hat, refusing to cry but reveling in the velvety caress of the fabric against his face. That, and he wanted to hide from the world. It was _embarrassing_ , being left out like this. Coming all the way to the station only to realize the party everyone had been talking about was somewhere else. Somewhere _he_ wasn’t privy to.

 

Instead he was here. Irritating, irrelevant Edward Nygma.

 

_But why let yourself be irrelevant? Why let them ignore you? Show them who you are, how great you truly are. Force them to see. Make it impossible not to._

 

It was so tempting, but how –

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

_That_ was a plan.

 

Could he pull it off, though? Did he have the confidence to?

 

_Come on, Eddie. Show the world who you really are. Who you’ve always been, deep down._

 

He lifted his head, nodding fiercely at his desk before jumping to his feet. He had work to do. A lot of work. And only one night to do it in.

 

Luckily, Edward Nygma was a _very_ skilled guy.

 

~          ~          ~

 

“Nygma in yet?” Harvey asked Jim, looking around his desk for a file on their latest case.

 

“Dunno. Haven’t seen him yet.”

 

“Alright, well when you do, tell him we need the _holy mother of hell what is that?!”_

 

“What?” Jim’s head swung around to see what Harvey was staring at, only to be temporarily blinded by a bright flash of green as _that_ passed a light at what _had_ to be a calculated angle. When the flare went down, Jim’s jaw dropped.

 

Edward was most assuredly _in._

_In what?_ appeared to be the better question.

 

In place of his typical gray and brown suits was a sheer _monstrosity_ made, seemingly, of nothing but shiny green sequins.

 

Jim’s eyes snapped back up to double check that it was, in fact, their forensic scientist. And indeed, Edward looked the same as always. He wore the same vaguely bored, slightly excited expression, eyes on the door to his lab as he made his way past what had to be _every_ light in the godforsaken station towards it.

 

What the _fuck_ had happened to him?

 

“Uh… Nygma?” Harvey asked as Edward passed. Edward paused, looking up with a questioning expression, “Yes detective?”

 

“You – uh – you alright?”

 

“I’m quite well, thank you! And yourself?”

 

“Um, great, I think,” Harvey stumbled through his reply, eyes wide as he continued to stare at the suit, “Might be experiencing hallucinations, though.”

 

“Oh my, that _is_ serious, detective. Perhaps you should speak with someone about that?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I should.”

 

“Well, I hope it goes well for you! Oh, and I’ll have everything for your case before lunch, don’t worry.”

 

“What? Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks.”

 

Edward waved cheerily and departed for the lab, leaving Harvey dumbstruck as he turned to Jim, “I’m not hallucinating, am I? You can see it too?”

 

“Yeah,” Jim was staring after the scientist, shock still clear on his face, “I can see it too.”

 

~          ~          ~

 

Lee raised an eyebrow when Edward walked in, but held her tongue. She waited for Edward to speak first, wondering if he would address it at all.

 

“Lee,” he hesitated, before lowering his voice, “I just wanted to say – you’ve been more of a friend to me than anyone. So I don’t want to do this to you.”

 

“Do what?” she frowned, a flicker of concern rising for the first time.

 

“The gaslighting. I’m telling everybody that I’ve always dressed like this, that my lab always looked like that – “

 

She _needed_ to see what his lab looked like.

 

“ – that they must be idiots for not noticing. But I didn’t want to do it to you, so I’m telling you now that it’s all a prank.”

 

Ah, so _that’s_ what was going on. Good for Edward. It was about time he took the initiative and found his confidence. Now, perhaps, he’d be a little more receptive of her subtle hints that he should reexamine certain parts of his identity. Or at least more receptive to a _less_ subtle hint.

 

Besides, if Jim wanted his life to be easy, he should have put his detective skills to work noticing her cute new haircut.

 

So she smiled and asked, “What’s all a prank? You’ve always dressed like this, Edward.”

 

Edward opened his mouth, brows drawn back, but before he could ask what she meant, she winked. Understanding spread through his expression and he smiled, one of his rare, genuine smiles that she wished he would give more of.

 

“Precisely.”

 

“It’s just the way things are,” she grinned conspiratorially, “Now get to work.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“Don’t call me ma’am. It makes me feel old.”

 

“Lee it is,” he nodded, and she laughed again.

 

“Hey, you know what we should do?”

 

“What?”

 

“We should go out for drinks sometime. You seem like the _ideal_ person to whine about Jim to, and I bet you’ve got some things to complain about. Maybe I could even be your wingwoman!”

 

Edward opened and closed his mouth a few times, obviously at a loss.

 

“Oh, c’mon. Give it a shot. I know a _great_ place.”

 

“Okay,” Edward conceded. Part of his motivation had been to get invited places, after all.

 

“You’ll love it, I promise,” she assured him, “But now we really should get to work.”

 

~          ~          ~

 

“Holy shit,” Harvey cursed as he entered the lab, needing to ask Edward about the possibility of a second weapon. He had _not_ expected to be met with green lights and a _glittery, bejeweled laboratory._

 

“Detective?” Edward spun around on his stool, looking up from a microscope.

 

“Nyg – Ed, are you, are you doin’ alright?”

 

“Yes, why do you ask?”

 

“Ed – Ed, you’re _sparkling_.”

 

“Why thank you, detective! I’ve always considered myself as having a bubbly personality.”

 

“No, Ed, I meant… Everything’s _green_ , Ed.”

 

Edward glanced around the lab, eyes trailing over the glittering decorations, “Astute observation, detective. Just as sharp as ever, I see.”

 

Harvey just gaped at him.

 

“Was there something you wanted, Detective Bullock?” Edward sighed when it became evident that Harvey was not going to move.

 

He blinked, before shaking his head and saying, “Oh, yeah,” and launching into an explanation of his latest theory on the case.

 

~          ~          ~

 

“Gordon? Anything new to report?”

 

Jim glanced up to see Captain Essen striding towards his desk and cleared his throat, “Yes. Harvey thinks there may have been a second weapon. We don’t know yet if that also means a second killer or not. He’s consulting with Ed right now.”

 

“Good, good,” she nodded, about to move towards the next pair of officers when Jim spoke up.

 

“Have you – have you noticed Ed today?”

 

Essen turned to him, expression between exasperated, fond, and resigned.

 

“Is there anything you could do about it?” he asked.

 

She sighed, “Leave him be, Gordon. He’s not hurting anyone, and there are far worse things he could be doing.”

 

“But – “

 

“Leave it,” she insisted, “Either it helps him – in which case, good for him – or it’ll blow over in a few days. And honestly, I don’t care which it is. We have _real_ problems to worry about, more than a little glitter. Focus on your work, detective.”

 

“Yessir.”

 

~          ~          ~

 

“Um… Lee?”

 

“Yeah?” she asked, returning with two drinks in hand and offering Edward his.

 

“I – I didn’t realize you were into women.”

 

Lee laughed, eyes sparkling _almost_ as much as Edward’s suit as she replied, “Well there’s probably a lot you don’t know about me. Hence why we should start hanging out more.”

 

She paused to take a sip before continuing, “ _But_ – tonight isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

 

“Me?” Edward frowned, pointing at himself as if she might have meant someone else.

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

“What do you mean?” he glanced around, “You don’t think _I’m_ – “

 

Lee smiled indulgently at him, knowing it was going to take more than bringing him to a gay bar to get him to realize his attraction to men, “I don’t think you’re allowing yourself to consider it. Maybe I’m wrong, but shouldn’t a scientist remain open to _all_ possibilities until proven otherwise? Isn’t your new… persona… all about dropping the pretenses and barriers that were holding you back? About embracing the ‘you’ you’ve always suppressed?”

 

“I – well – yeah,” Edward admitted.

 

“Well I think it’s worth exploring one’s sexuality, especially if one is used to repressing the parts of oneself society might be… less inclined to accept. And also I have _never_ met a straight man who would wear something like that,” she gestured at Edward’s sparkling suit, “I mean, there’s a first time for everything, but… the simplest answer is usually the right one.”

 

“Occam’s razor.”

 

“Exactly!” she nodded, “So think it over, yeah? Really think about it, though.”

 

“Alright,” Edward conceded, “I can do that.”

 

“Good. Now why don’t you start by asking the guy over there to dance? Or just chat. He hasn’t stopped glancing at you since we sat down.”

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

 

“I’ll be right here if anything untoward goes down,” she laid a comforting hand on his arm, “Now go use that newfound penchant for flair to give yourself a social life.”

 

“Hey!”

 

She smiled, “Go on.”

 

“Okay.”

 

~          ~          ~

 

While the man had been dull at _best_ , he had taught Edward a valuable lesson.

 

_He was attracted to men._

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized it before. Then again, he’d had absolutely no experience with the queer community until that night. His parents certainly wouldn’t have permitted it, and he supposed he just… never thought about it afterwards. Had never stopped to wonder.

 

At least, not until Lee pointed out how glaringly obvious it all was.

 

He had felt like a fool, but by now, he’d come to terms with it.

 

Which was why he knew that basic fascination was _not_ his sole motivator in stalking the Penguin himself around the precinct.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

“I don’t think so – can you?”

 

The Penguin snorted, “What do you want?”

 

Edward grinned at him, “What I want, the poor have, the rich need, and if you eat it, you’ll die!”

 

“Is this – are you asking me a riddle?”

 

“Do you like riddles?”

 

“No.”

 

“So do you give up?”

 

“Friend, look – “

 

“Nothing!” he couldn’t stop himself from interrupting, “The answer is nothing. I want nothing.”

 

The Penguin stared at him, long and hard, before he snorted again and said, “Incorrect.”

 

It was Edward’s turn to frown in confusion, “Incorrect? I assure you, the answer is – “

 

“No, you obviously are in want of a respectable outfit,” the Penguin eyed his sequined suit with disdain, causing Edward to pout, “In fact,” he glanced down at the invitation, “Why don’t you swing by my club tonight and I’ll get you a replacement. Even if I have to _make it myself._ ”

 

Years later, Edward would still be unsure as to what power drove him to reply, “Is that your way of saying my suit would look better on your bedroom floor?”

 

The Penguin choked on air and Edward added, “You could at least buy me dinner before you try to get me out of my clothes.”

 

And then his words registered in his mind and his face underwent a swift series of changes, draining of all color before having it come rushing back, cheeks heating up in a red that spread all the way to the tips of his ears. _What_ had he just said, and to _whom?_ Had he – Edward Nygma – shy, excitable Edward Nygma – really just flirted – _blatantly flirted_ – with the Penguin himself?

 

Oh dear, oh god, he was going to die, wasn’t he?

 

Oswald was still gaping at him, searching for something to say. Finally his face relaxed and he offered a sharp smile, “Well, I’d hate to come off as anything other than a gentleman. What do you say, how about… six o’clock tomorrow night? I’ll fetch you from the precinct myself, if you like.”

 

Edward’s jaw dropped.

 

Had the Penguin just… was he going on a date with the Penguin?

 

_Not if you don’t accept. Duh._

 

He snapped his mouth shut, swallowing hard before he managed to squeak out, “Okay.”

 

“Good,” Oswald smiled, not quite predatorily.

 

Somewhere, a few desks away, Harvey was in too much shock to mourn the loss of the doughnut he had dropped on the floor after Edward’s initial pick-up line.


	9. Snowmen (Scriddler)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no plot, only emotional fluff and crack.
> 
> Oh, and snowmen. Lots of those.

He was still riding the high of his success by the time he’d made it home. He’d stashed his modified car to retrieve later, took the subway to the center of town, and the bus back out. The bus had dropped him off about a twenty minute walk to the house he and Jonathan had recently acquired. It was a nice place – far nicer than the last one, at any rate. The water worked, and it came from a well, so they needn’t worry about Gotham’s frankly alarming rate of poisoned or otherwise tampered with water. It had two stories, plus a cellar which could easily be expanded into a laboratory for their less intensive projects. And, most importantly, it was well hidden in a clearing in the woods just outside the city.

 

Edward trudged through about a foot and a half of snow, coat unbuttoned as he practically vibrated with energy following his latest victory. The heist had gone off without a hitch, and not only had it taken the Bat over half an hour to find his location, he’d gotten away with barely a scratch (he had, unfortunately, scraped his knee rather harshly at one point, so he could not claim a fully clean escape). Still, he had stolen a large amount of cash, already dispersed into a variety of accounts, as well as a supposedly indecipherable scroll, which had been his initial target, hidden deep in the vault of the bank.

 

And now he was headed home, to this new house, to help Jon finish unpacking. And hopefully, if his partner was in the right mood, celebrate. Which, he smiled to himself, could mean a variety of things, all based on what Jonathan was feeling up to. Sometimes he would push Edward to choose, but for the most part Jonathan preferred to call the shots and Edward preferred that too. He liked the simplicity of it, as well as the unpredictability. Celebrating with Jon could be anything from a nice meal to sex to going somewhere isolated and beautiful, putting aside their work to focus fully on each other for once. Or maybe, if Jon was feeling _particularly_ generous, it might be the opportunity to get to know some strange, dreadfully out of place fact about him. Like the time Jon had been in such a good mood, he’d let it slip that he knew how to square dance. Edward was still working on a plot to see for himself, but so far he’d come up short with the problem that a traditional square dance requires at least nine people – eight for the square plus a caller. Where he was going to dig up at least eight people and a reasonable reason to attend was, as of yet, beyond him.

 

Still, his energy had lasted through the series of rides _and_ the walk, and nothing was going to get in his –

 

He stopped short as he finally emerged from the trees into the clearing before the house. The house itself looked lovely, the snow on the roof and the frosted windows giving it a very wintery aesthetic.

 

It was the yard that had his jaw dropping.

 

He had expected to return to a pristine field of snow, perhaps a few tracks from animals or even Jonathan, if he had needed to retrieve something.

 

What he had _not_ expected, however, was a series of disturbingly realistic snowmen, depicting scenes of horror and gore. Snowmen ripping out each other’s hearts, snowmen chopping each other into bits, snowmen eating their own limbs at gunpoint – and just how detailed _was_ that snow gun?

 

It would have been hilarious, were it not for the attention to detail in each monstrous creation. These _things_ were no Frosty – they had generally proportionate limbs, expressions carefully carved into their faces, screams – quite literally frozen. Edward shivered as he passed a particular figure of a man plucking his brains out via the eye socket. How did one even _make_ snow brains?

 

Edward cautiously wove his way between the horrifying sculptures, thoughts of celebration giving way to a combination of concern and confusion as he climbed up the porch steps. What would await him inside? More disturbing art? And could it really be Jonathan who had made all these? He’d never struck Edward as the type to build snowmen. What if Jon had been kidnapped by one of the, frankly numerous, cold villains? And if it was Jonathan’s doing… _why?_ What mindset could possibly cause him to do this? Should Edward be worried?

 

But as he closed the door quietly behind him and looked around, he could notice no difference in the house since he’d left it, save for a few more pieces of furniture and decorations set up. Jon must have had the time to unpack _something_.

 

He found the man in what he had immediately claimed as his study, a half empty box of papers on the floor by his feet, one on the desk beneath his hunched over form.

 

Edward coughed lightly, watching as the man gave a small start but gave no other indication he knew or cared about his presence, at least until he finished the paragraph he was on. Once he reached a suitable stopping point, he set the essay aside and looked up at Edward, folding his long fingers in front of him on the desk.

 

“I see you’ve made it back,” he said by way of greeting, “All went well, I presume?”

 

Edward blinked, remembering the reason for his absence and a stirring of the excitement he’d felt earlier. He nodded, “Almost perfect.”

 

“Good,” Jon gave him one of his brief, small smiles that was more acknowledgement than actual emotion. Edward didn’t mind. He enjoyed being acknowledged.

 

When Jonathan made as if to return to his reading, Edward coughed again. Jon looked back up at him, eyebrow raised.

 

“Umm… Jon?”

 

“Yes, Ed?”

 

“The – um – the front yard.”

 

“What about it?”

 

“What happened to it?”

 

Jonathan frowned, “What do you mea – _oh._ That.”

 

“Uh-huh. _That_.”

 

“I was bored.”

 

Edward took his turn to frown, “And your being bored led to our playing host to a party of nightmarish snowmen… _how_ , exactly?”

 

“I accidentally unpacked one of your boxes. It was an old set of books, so I assumed…” he shrugged, “In any case, I realized I hadn’t seen them before, and I glanced through them a bit before leaving the box in your to-be work room,” he pointed in the general direction of Edward’s chosen location, “Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine, but – “ he cut himself off as Jonathan was already reading again, clearly convinced he had answered Edward’s inquiry to satisfaction. Edward scowled at him before marching off to find the box. How a box of his old books could cause all this, he had no idea, but obviously Jonathan thought it cleared everything up.

 

When he reached the room, the box in question was easy to find. It was sitting on a table in the center of the room, still open. The book Jon claimed to have skimmed was, presumably, the one balanced precariously on the top. Edward still marveled at how he could do that: set something down without paying the slightest attention to how close it was to falling and still manage to get it to stay.

 

He picked up the book carefully, mindful of the paperback’s weak binding, and traced his eyes over the cover.

 

Oh.

 

_This_ was the ‘book’ Jon had read?

 

The first time Edward had encountered the comic books of Calvin and Hobbes had been in his elementary school library. The depth of the humor had impressed him, and he related to both the cunning and the loneliness of the title character. Years later, in college, he had seen a few books at a local library’s old book sale and picked them up for a couple of bucks a piece. He hadn’t really looked at them since those days.

 

Then he noticed a piece of paper sticking out of the book and frowned again. He flipped the book open to the page in question, finding one of Jon’s old papers that he, presumably, had stuck there by accident.

 

And then Edward saw the comic on the marked page.

 

‘Snowman House of Horrors’ indeed.

 

He walked into the hallway, reaching a window from which he could observe Jon’s work and compare it that of the cartoon.

 

Remarkable.

 

Jonathan’s creations were, of course, far more realistic and thus more terrifying, but the concept was largely the same. Edward felt a bout of giggles rising in his chest and before he could stop himself he burst out laughing. He braced himself against the wall, clutching the book to his chest as he glanced back at the yard and laughed all the harder.

 

He was so caught up in his amusement, he didn’t even hear the movement behind him before a pair of long, scrawny arms wrapped around his midsection and a bony chin dropped to his shoulder.

 

“Y’know, I’m rather proud of them,” Jon whispered – less intentionally and more because he lacked a reason to speak louder – and Edward could _hear_ his smirk.

 

He willed himself to calm, leaning back against the other before replying, “I really never took you for the snow creations type.”

 

“Gotta try new hobbies, don’t I?” Jon answered, “Besides, no matter how many Gotham winters I see, I still find myself surprised by the snow. I was curious.”

 

“Well, they _are_ very… _you_ ,” Edward determined, before glancing back outside and bursting into laughter again. He swayed without the support of the wall, until Jonathan maneuvered him around so he could clutch at him instead.

 

“Just when I think I’ve finally figured you out, you pull something like this,” Edward mumbled into his shoulder when his laughter had subsided enough to speak.

 

“Good thing you like surprises, then,” Jon returned, and Edward couldn’t disagree. He pulled himself back just enough to tip his head up, asking without words, and he smiled when Jon complied and kissed him tenderly. When they broke apart, he buried his face back into Jonathan’s collar and sighed at the feeling of Jon kissing the top of his head, as well.

 

“Welcome home, darlin’,” Jon murmured, “It’s been quiet without you.”

 

Once upon a time, Edward would have worried that a statement like that meant he was irritating Jonathan, a nuisance whom he couldn’t wait to get a break from.

 

He didn’t know when he’d stopped believing this, when he’d let himself trust Jonathan, trust _them_ , but he did know that he knew what Jonathan meant now. He knew that it was simply Jonathan’s way of saying, “I missed you.”

 

So instead of doubting, Edward allowed himself to do precisely what he wanted and grip Jon even tighter, telling him, “I guess I’ll just have to double my efforts to make up for it, then.”

 

Jon just smiled and kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the comic that inspired both Jonathan and myself: 
> 
> http://www.funnybizblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/5.jpg


	10. Yule Ball (Nygmobblepot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward accidentally says something out loud, but the consequences might just be better than his deepest fantasies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A hogwarts!au, obviously.
> 
> This, I think, gets a bit long-winded at times, I apologize. I was trying to shove a lot of stuff in from an au my friend and I planned last, god, was it april? Well, it never happened (it's still on my List, though) so I just stuck a bunch of our headcanons in here and it probably didn't help the flow of the story.

The brisk wind flowed over his skin, pelting him with tiny flakes of snow that melted upon contact and disappeared. The shock of the chill was welcome after the suffocating heat of the castle. Usually, Edward loved how warm Hogwarts was, the coziness of it all, the fantastic nature of such a feeling coming from within an old stone fortress. But the heat from the enchanted fires combined with the heat of embarrassment was more than his body was equipped to handle. He had considered a retreat to Ravenclaw tower, an evening spent reveling in the – for once – empty common room, curled up with one of the thousands of novels lining the walls. Or, perhaps, entertaining himself with one of the numerous simulations a particularly aspiring group of seventh years had put together for when students decided they could learn better without the lectures. Honestly, what the other houses did when the lectures became too slow or too arbitrary was beyond him.

 

Still, the Yule ball happened only once every three years, and it would not occur again within his time as a student. As much as he wished he were elsewhere, he would bear it, if only to avoid the future suffering from years of regret.

 

So, rather than hiding within his dorm, Edward escaped the sneers of Dougherty and his gang, as well as the different yet equally humiliating looks of pity Kristen was sending his way, by fleeing outdoors. When she had turned him down, said she was already going with someone else, he had never imagined that the man she’d turned him down for was _Dougherty._ Dougherty was a bastard, and all of Ravenclaw knew it. How he had been sorted there was a mystery to them all, and Edward has once heard a joke that it was only a matter of time before the door knocker was asking them that very question. Edward’s personal theory was that Dougherty was _so_ cunning and manipulative, he had manipulated the hat into sorting him somewhere besides Slytherin so that no one would suspect him of plotting things.

 

But at the end of the day, Dougherty was what he was and Edward had thought it was _obvious_. No one in Ravenclaw wanted to associate with him. His crew was almost as diverse as it was nasty – largely the more brutish of the Gryffindors and the less intelligent of the Hufflepuffs: tough, imposing, or loyal, but never clever or ambitious. The entire gang was disliked by the majority of the school, or so Edward had gathered. Dougherty himself was both a fast and a smooth talker, and had charmed many outside of his own house, where his volatile attitude was less hidden, but his ‘friends’ were less cautious and therefore less liked.

 

So maybe, _maybe_ Kristen had fallen victim to his sweet talking like many a teacher had. Yet, was her twin not a member of Ravenclaw house? Surely she should have _warned_ her. Perhaps she was simply too caught up in her own date, Renee. Still…

 

Edward inhaled the sharp coolness of the winter air, letting his concerns drift away with the snow. He had tried, time and again, to win Kristen’s favor. It wasn’t in his nature to admit defeat, but his continued pursuit of her, especially now, was a danger to his well-being. He would still watch, would still worry, but perhaps it was time to accept that she just couldn’t love him. Perhaps no one could.

 

It was a depressing thought, but not a new one. Edward’s mind drifted to the home he was forced back to each summer, the home he was sure would one day, no longer be waiting for him. He knew perfectly well that the only reason his parents showed up at the station every spring to pick him up was because they could write him off on their taxes, maybe even get welfare money ‘for’ him. But besides being a financial asset, he was merely the freak, lurking around in the shadows of their home. It had even been suggested that he was a demon, a changeling that had stolen their ‘real’ son from him.

 

He didn’t honestly know which would be worse. Returning with them next summer, or returning to find himself homeless. Perhaps he could become a street magician. He wouldn’t be allowed to use his magic, as a sixteen year old, but it wasn’t as if he was planning on it anyways. That would be cheating. Edward knew he could perform illusions flawlessly on his own.

 

As his thoughts wandered, so did his feet, carrying him amongst the maze of rose bushes that had sprung up in front of the castle, creating a massive, aesthetic courtyard. He skirted the bushes that made noises, uninterested in catching his fellow students doing, well, _anything_ one might do in a rosebush. He peered at statues, watched the snow, and thought.

 

Thought, that is, until he was drawn out of them by the sight of a solitary student, sitting on a bench, staring at the sky.

 

Oswald Cobblepot.

 

Edward knew him. Not personally, of course. They had spoken but once, the time Edward had arranged to be partnered with him in herbology, pretending he was upset to be working with the Slytherin to save face with his house but secretly being overjoyed. Oswald’s ‘career’ was nothing short of infamous at Hogwarts, already entering the phase of school legend. As the tale went, Oswald was sorted into Slytherin, much like a quarter of the students. At the time, all of Slytherin was loyal to a fifth year by the name of Fish Mooney. Edward remembered her, if at a distance, largely from the tales of how she had been hexed in a duel so that one of her eyes burned with pain. Rather than finding a counter-curse or conceding and going to Madame Pomfrey, she grabbed a spoon from a nearby table and carved the eye out. The other student fled, and so only rumors existed of how she had replaced it. Most commonly it was believed that she had made a sacrifice to a long dormant god who granted her the eye of one of her enemies.

 

When Oswald Cobblepot entered Slytherin house, Fish Mooney had given him a position akin to boot-licker. Edward remembered the way he had been ridiculed by Slytherins and Gryffindors alike, having a designation that allowed him no protection. He also remembered the look on Cobblepot’s face each time he watched the retreating backs of his attackers, the silent vow to get revenge. He was, perhaps, the only one unsurprised when, within the year, Fish Mooney was expelled, and her last words were a concession of power to Cobblepot himself.

 

That is not to say he was anything short of enthralled.

 

And now here he was, the king of Slytherin house himself, sitting on a bench, alone.

 

Edward was reminded, all too suddenly, of the self-interrogation he had conducted the year before, when he had determined himself to be bisexual. He had forced himself to admit that his nigh-stalkerish behavior towards Oswald stemmed from an attraction, one that might even be stronger than his attraction towards Kristen. But Kristen was, possibly, attainable.

 

Oswald was not.

 

Not to mention if his parents knew he was a wizard _and_ attracted to men, he would most assuredly be tossed out onto the streets, tax deductions be damned.

 

But surely, _surely_ a man as powerful as Oswald had a line of suitors falling at his feet. So what could he possibly be doing in the cold, alone?

 

Oswald chose that moment to look up at him, glaring daggers. Edward blinked, before his sensory memory kicked in to inform him that he did, in fact, speak the last words aloud.

 

Oh dear.

 

He stared at Oswald, eyes wide, waiting to be jinxed or cursed.

 

And then Oswald’s frame began to shake and he burst out laughing.

 

“What?” Edward asked, unsure what the man could possibly be laughing at. Unless it was himself. It probably was. It _usually_ was.

 

“Seriously?” Oswald wiped away a tear of mirth, “You _were_ joking, weren’t you?”

 

“Joking?” Edward frowned, “About what?”

 

Oswald raised an eyebrow, “A line of suitors? Me?”

 

“Well… yes.”

 

“Me?” Oswald repeated, and Edward finally noticed the flush on his cheeks. He glanced around and quickly spotted a bottle of firewhiskey leaning against Oswald’s side, almost a third empty.

 

“You do know who you’re talking to, right? Have you looked at me?”

 

Edward nodded, “Oswald Cobblepot.”

 

“Exactly. The Penguin. The awkward, bony sadist with a limp, generally described as disgusting, atrocious, or by the particularly kind, merely cruel,” he laughed, and Edward thought that his laugh was colder than the snow. But he knew himself enough to know that his shiver was not from the coldness of either.

 

“Who,” Oswald asked in a deliberately slow tone, as if Edward was missing something obvious, “would want to dance with me?”

 

Edward didn’t know if it was bravery, stupidity, or just plain cold-induced honesty, but he heard himself reply, “Me.”

 

Oswald blinked at him, “What?”

 

He cleared his throat, deciding that in for a penny was in for a pound, “I would. Dance with you.”

 

“Really?” Oswald asked, clearly disbelieving.

 

“Well, I mean, if you asked,” he stumbled over his words, “I wouldn’t – I wouldn’t presume to ask _you_. I mean, I’m just – just – “

 

“Edward Nygma.”

 

Edward paused, staring at him, “You know my name?”

 

“Of course. We worked together in herbology once. How many years ago was that?”

 

“Two.”

 

“Ah, yes. You were bumbling about like a fool and yet somehow got me the best grade I’ve ever received in that class. You’re hiding something valuable behind that nervous, pathetic exterior. I remember people like that.”

 

“Well, the point still stands. I am certainly not in a position to ask you _anything_. Beg, perhaps, although I would rather not. But if _you_ asked me, for whatever reason, I would say yes.”

 

“Prove it then.”

 

“Sorry?” Edward asked, confused.

 

“Dance with me, Edward, if you really mean it.”

 

“Here?” he looked at the narrow, snow laden cobblestone beneath his feet.

 

“No. In the main hall. In front of everyone else.”

 

Edward just gaped at him, until Oswald scoffed, “See. Whatever sympathetic intentions you may have had, you would be just as embarrassed as the rest of them to be seen with me. You – “

 

“Alright.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’ll do it. I was – I was just surprised,” he swallowed, “I didn’t think you would want to be seen with _me._ I mean, your image – “

 

“Trust me, my image would not be the one harmed.”

 

Edward took his turn to scoff, “Are you implying _my_ image could somehow be damaged?”

 

“Yes, by association. Your colleagues would mark you as dangerous, unstable, some such thing. I would ruin your image.”

 

“That implies I _have_ an image in the first place,” Edward muttered, “Barely a handful of them have any idea who I am, what my name is. I’m… forgettable.”

 

“Are you really?” Oswald asked, almost curiously, “Why don’t you make them remember you?”

 

“I – “ Edward stared at him, “ _How?_ I don’t know how.”

 

“Well, I suppose being seen on my arm would be a start,” he snorted before his face smoothed out, “But I jest. I know you don’t actually want to, and I won’t make you – “

 

“What are you talking about?” Edward frowned, “It would be my absolute honor, if you would allow me to, that is.”

 

Oswald stared at him flatly before standing up and holding out his elbow, “Fine then. If you insist on keeping up your charade, I shall have no choice but to force your hand. Prove it, or leave me in peace!”

 

Edward studied his fiery expression, the extended elbow, the _challenge_.

 

“Alright,” he said quietly, “I accept,” and looped his hand through Oswald’s arm.

 

Oswald was watching him in shock, he could tell, but he set his shoulders back, stood up straight, and met the challenge with the full force of his determination.

 

“Shall we?”

 

Oswald blinked, realizing, perhaps, that he had forced his _own_ hand into this as well, and nodded, leading Edward back towards the castle.

 

The hall is just as crowded as when Edward fled it, the air still suffocating with the heat of a few hundred bodies. But this time the thrill of being on the king of Slytherin’s arm far outweighed the stifling feeling, and Edward was practically bouncing on his feet with the anticipation of it all.

 

He was not to be disappointed.

 

The moment Oswald set foot inside the hall, at least half the room’s eyes were upon them. And barely half a second later, the whispers were beginning, new rumors ready to spread, new legends to make.

 

And for once, Edward was at the center of it all.

 

He caught Kristen’s eye across the hall, her own eyes wide with shock and worry. He almost laughed at that. _He_ was not the one who should be worried about their choice of partner. His eyes slid to left to Dougherty, who was gaping as well, a generic expression of shock mirrored by many in the hall.

 

“Well, Edward?” Oswald turned towards him, holding a hand out, palm up, “What do you say? Shall we?”

 

His composure, considering he had thought Edward’s insistence was all a prank til then, was enviable. And envy him Edward did.

 

“Indeed,” Edward swallowed, nerves creeping in as he felt eyes on him from all sides, Oswald having cleared them a path to the center of the dance floor. He accepted Oswald’s hand, somewhat awkwardly falling into the follow position. He had been under no illusions that Oswald would lead, but having assumed his date would be Kristen, he had not practiced otherwise. Nor, he supposed, was his coordination all that desirable.

 

But with Oswald’s bad leg their pace was slow to begin with, and they made it work. Edward, for all his stumbling, felt almost graceful as the waltz proceeded. He felt light, like he might float away were it not for Oswald’s firm grasp at his hand and waist. Were he not a wizard, he might have said he was enchanted.

 

“You really meant it,” Oswald whispered, wonder coloring his voice.

 

Edward glanced down to meet his eyes and nodded, “Of course. I – you’re _fascinating_.”

 

Oswald’s grip tightened, “So you’re – what – making a study of me?”

 

He shook his head quickly, “No, no. That’s not what I meant. I mean… I’ve looked up to you for so long. It’s unimaginable to me that you would actually even _notice_ me.”

 

“Looked up to me?” Oswald huffed out a breath, looking away momentarily, “No one’s ever _admired_ me…”

 

“Well, I do,” Edward insisted, “And,” he bit his lip and glanced at the hand Oswald had placed upon his hip. Surely if he were not opposed to _dancing_ with him, he wouldn’t take offense at, “and more.”

 

“More?”

 

“Yes. I more than admire you. I – I – “

 

“You what?” Oswald asked him, and Edward couldn’t tell if he was amused or genuinely curious.

 

“I’m attracted to you.”

 

There. He’d said it.

 

Oswald raised an eyebrow at him, “Really? Me? What, pray tell, _about_ me?”

 

“Your presence,” Edward answered immediately, “How people don’t just _see_ you enter a room, they _feel_ it.”

 

Oswald was looking at him with more intent, finally appraising him in full, “That is… an interesting view to have, Mr. Nygma.”

 

“Please, call me Ed,” he replied, before realizing whom he was correcting, “I mean – “

 

“I understand, Ed,” Oswald assured him, and Edward was distinctly aware that Oswald’s thumb was caressing over the back of the hand he held.

 

“I am even beginning to believe you,” Oswald smiled, still too sharp, too calculating to be real. He was not remotely off his guard.

 

“Well I really do mean it,” Edward insisted.

 

“And yet I still do not have the proof. I may remember you, but I hardly know you well enough to take your word. Dancing with you does nothing to smear my image, but being played for a fool would. So tell me, Ed, can you prove your words?”

 

Edward swallowed hard, thinking – a feat which was difficult as he was twirled around by the object of his desire himself. And then it struck him. It was a gamble, certainly. He had no guarantee Oswald would take it as proof. No guarantee Oswald wouldn’t just kill him then and there for it.

 

But, he realized, he didn’t care. He _wanted_ to try, wanted to do it even if it meant signing the order for his own execution.

 

“Alright, I will,” he said, and the hand he had placed on Oswald’s shoulder slid up to the back of his neck as he leaned in and kissed him for all he was worth.

 

Oswald froze beneath him for a moment, before bringing up his own hand to grab Edward’s collar roughly and pull him in closer. He pulled himself back just far enough to hiss, “Smart move. I think I might just give you the benefit of the doubt. But rest assured, if this _is_ all an act, you _will_ beg, and you will be begging for _death_.”

 

Edward just smiled against his lips and pressed himself closer, nodding his understanding of the threat.

 

He hardly need worry – after all, he _had_ meant every word.


	11. Reindeer (Nygmobblepot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin wants a reindeer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is actually the length I was imagining when I first established this challenge for myself... I mean, I'm glad I've made full-length oneshots for the others, but I'm also falling behind so short and sweet it is.

“So how have my two favorite men been faring?” Edward asked, returning with the bag of caramel corn, as requested.

 

“He wants one,” Oswald said flatly.

 

“Who wants what?” he blinked.

 

“ _Martin_ ,” Oswald gestured towards the boy who was still pressed up against the wire fence, “wants a _reindeer_.”

 

“He – he wants one?”

 

“For Christmas,” Oswald nodded, voice calm yet with an underlying hysteria, “You know. As one does.”

 

“Aw,” Edward cooed, distracted from the conversation as Martin held his palm through the fence, feeding the reindeer one of the treats provided by the lady running the attraction, “They’re so _cute!_ ”

 

“Edward!” Oswald snapped, “This is serious! What are we going to do?”

 

“About what?”

 

“ _Martin_ ,” Oswald sighed, clearly nearing the end of his rope, “And his request.”

 

Edward paused to think it over, before it clicked.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it!”

 

“You do?”

 

“Yes,” he nodded, “it’ll all be sorted out. Now why don’t you take this,” he handed over the sweetened kettle corn, “and Martin to Santa’s workshop. You know how the puppets unsettle me, and it _is_ the main attraction. I’ll get everything worked out while you’re busy.”

 

Oswald nodded, stashing the snacks in Martin’s backpack, which they’d brought along for just such souvenirs.

 

“Martin!” he called out, waiting for the boy to reluctantly peel himself away from the exhibit.

 

“It is odd,” Oswald said to him while they waited, “That a man who spend so much time building robots is scared of mechanical toys.”

 

“They’re _soulless_ , Oswald. Look at their _eyes_ ,” he shuddered.

 

“Whatever you say,” Oswald shrugged, placing a protective hand on Martin’s shoulder as he finally rejoined them.

 

“We’re going to go see Santa and his workshop now, how does that sound?”

 

Martin scribbled on his pad and handed Oswald the paper.

 

“Can we see the reindeer again before we leave?” he read aloud, before smiling, “Of course, Martin.”

 

Martin smiled and nodded, then, reaching out to take Oswald’s hand and drag him deeper into the holiday festival.

 

It was a few hours before they finished, meeting Edward in the food court for dinner before they planned to head home.

 

“So?” Oswald asked in an aside to him while Martin was distracted by the ridiculously massive assortment of cookies displayed in the front counter.

 

“What?”

 

“Your plan? How did it go?”

 

“Oh,” Edward smiled, “Marvelously. They actually have a barn full of them, so that they don’t have to be around people all day. And there was hardly any security at all.”

 

“Security?” Oswald frowned, “What do you mean?”

 

“I would have thought a reindeer would be harder to steal than cash, seeing as how the one is alive and the other isn’t, you know, but as it turns out,” he shrugged innocently, “it’s a piece of cake!”

 

Oswald blinked, “Excuse me, I must have misheard you. _Steal?_ ”

 

“Well of course,” Edward frowned, “Martin wanted a reindeer, so I stole him one.”

 

“ _You_ stole _a reindeer? Where are we going to_ put _it?!_ ”


	12. Sleigh Ride (Nygmobblepot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victorian/Edwardian!AU
> 
> Oswald asks Edward to accompany him on a sleigh ride through the snowy woods, in a ploy to get some time with him, unchaperoned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda sorta inspired by Sense and Sensibility when Marianne and Willoughby go off for a few hours. Not really, though.

“The woodlands sure are gorgeous today, do you not think?”

 

Edward jumped, his reverie broken as he turned to see Oswald Van Dahl, the young heir of the Van Dahl estate at his side.

 

“I’m sorry, sir, I did not mean to idle – “

 

“Hush,” Oswald waved a dismissive hand, “I am alone.”

 

Edward’s posture relaxed at that, leaning forward on the bench he had stopped to enjoy, elbows braced on his knees, “You are most correct, Oswald. They are nothing short of stunning.”

 

Oswald watched him from the corner of his eyes, more entranced by Edward than the pristine landscape.

 

As Edward began to sing softly, he fell deeper into the enchantment.

 

“ _Good King Cobblepot looked out, on the feast of Steven, when the snow lay all around, deep and crisp and even.”_

Oswald laughed lightly, “I have not heard you use the name ‘King Cobblepot’ in ages, Edward.”

 

“Of course not,” he replied, “I intended it as an insult, and now we have formed an attachment.”

 

“Ah, yes,” Oswald smiled at the memory, “It was the first time I can recall ever _being_ insulted. I knew then that I must make you mine at once.”

 

Edward let the silence speak for him as he glanced away, a resentment that his position did not allow hanging between them. Oswald sighed, “I made you a promise, Edward.”

 

“I know,” Edward said shortly, refusing to speak out of turn, lest Oswald turn on him at last.

 

“I _will_ keep it,” he insisted, laying a cautious hand on Edward’s knee, “Please believe me. Trust me.”

 

“Of course I trust you,” Edward answered, although he could tell the words sounded false.

 

Oswald sighed again and brought his other hand up to cup Edward’s face, drawing him closer.

 

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling him down for a kiss. Edward began to kiss him back before freezing in his arms. Reluctantly, Oswald released him.

 

“What is it, my dear?”

 

“We cannot do this here,” Edward said, “The risk is too great.”

 

“But is it not worth it?”

 

Edward scowled at the ground, “It is not you who would be punished.”

 

Oswald deflated at that, “I know, darling. I’m sorry.”

 

Edward softened, too, “I know you are.”

 

“Soon I will inform my parents of our attachment, and then we shall never have to hide again, nor fear a thing.”

 

Edward shook his head, “You are dreaming.”

 

“Not at all,” Oswald assured him, “After all, my father did the exact same thing. How could he possibly reprimand _me_ for following in his footsteps?”

 

“I suppose having affection for the kitchen staff is part of the Van Dahl inheritance?” Edward asked drily.

 

“Mmm, must be,” Oswald nodded.

 

The sound of snow crunching beneath footfalls alerted them to the approach of another, and they reluctantly moved apart, Edward standing to assume an appearance of productiveness.

 

“Father!” Oswald exclaimed when the man came in sight, “What are you doing outside in this weather? Your heart – “

 

“Could use the exercise,” Mr. Van Dahl told him, “Besides, your mother is in a decorating frenzy. I keep reminding her that she has no need to do it all herself, but she insists…”

 

“Of course. I love none so much as my mother, but I concur that when she is in a mood, she can be exhausting.”

 

“My sentiments exactly!” his father exclaimed, “Say, what are you doing?”

 

Oswald kept his eyes from straying towards Edward as he replied, “I was thinking it would be a fine afternoon for a sleigh ride, to clear my thoughts.”

 

“A capital idea! And I suppose you have dragged this poor young fellow away from his work in order to aid you?”

 

Oswald smiled thinly, “Precisely.”

 

Still, the fact that his father had acknowledged Edward’s existence was a good sign. Most in his position would have known better.

 

“Come, Nygma,” he gestured at Edward to move, “Prepare my sleigh. And do it properly – I imagine I should want to ride until supper.”

 

His father’s eyes sparkled as he watched him, “Oh, to be young,” he sighed, “Still, as I am not, I shall leave you to it. Enjoy yourself, and make sure you _do_ return by supper or your mother will have a fit.”

 

“Of course, Father.”

 

As his father returned to the manor, Oswald followed Edward’s path towards the stables. He was amazed but unsurprised to find his horse and sleigh ready and waiting.

 

“You work quickly, my dear.”

 

“Indeed,” Edward replied.

 

Wanting to see Edward’s adorable bewildered expression, Oswald held out his own hand to assist Edward is getting into the sleigh.

 

“But I – “

 

“Take my hand, Edward,” Oswald grinned, “That’s an order.”

 

Edward sighed in exasperation and allowed himself to be helped in, Oswald climbing in behind him.

 

“Now then,” Oswald took the reigns in his leather-gloved hands, “If it takes over one half-hour to reach an appropriately secluded place, and the same to return, I think that gives us – what? – a good four hours of unchaperoned time, all to ourselves?”

 

Edward smiled and allowed himself to lean a little into Oswald’s side, “That sound accurate.”

 

Oswald’s grin turned into a more mischievous smirk, “That’s a lot of time, Mr. Nygma. Who knows what we could get up to?”

 

Edward finally let himself melt fully against his lover and replied, “Who indeed, Master Van Dahl? Who indeed?”


	13. Supply Closet (Scriddler)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone's in Jonathan's favorite hiding spot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's good news and there's bad news.
> 
> Good news: Finals are over and break has begun
> 
> Bad news: I'm more inspired to build things than I am to write right now and _holy crap_ who let it be the 22nd already???
> 
> So I'm gonna try and rush and finish this in time, but... heh... we'll see

“What are you doing back here?”

 

The boy jumped, reaching for the nearest item and looking at it before replying, “I – I was asked to fetch… sticky-backed Easter foam shapes?”

 

“It’s December,” Jonathan deadpanned.

 

“Planning ahead?”

 

“Uh-huh. Get out.”

 

“What? Why?” the boy huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“This is my closet.”

 

“What are you talking about?” he furrowed his brow, “This is the church’s supply closet? You do _not_ look like an ordained _anything_.”

 

“Well,” Jonathan shrugged, letting the other do the work, “I am. Now get out.”

 

“No. Prove it.”

 

“Don’t question a priest, son,” this was _far_ too easy, “You don’t want to go to Hell, now do you?”

 

The boy chewed on his lip for a bit, eyes narrowed as he studied Jonathan and he wondered how long it would take for the other to realize he wasn’t nearly as old as he looked.

 

“What if – “ the boy lowered his voice, “What if I don’t believe in Hell?”

 

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, “What are you doing in a church, then?”

 

“Hiding.”

 

“Hiding?” he repeated, “And this is your… preferred location?”

 

“Ha! I knew you weren’t a priest!” the boy exclaimed, shoving a finger in his face. Jonathan blinked and stepped back so he could stare at it without going cross-eyed.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“It’s a well-known fact that holy grounds are supposed to be sanctuaries. A real priest would have offered to _help_ me hide, and probably tried to save my soul along the way or some such nonsense, but the point still stands, and – “

 

Jonathan stared at him, wondering if he was witnessing some otherworldly being that didn’t require oxygen to live. Finally, he stopped to gasp for breath, looking for all intents and purposes like he was about to plow onwards, so Jonathan held up a hand. The boy froze, mouth half-way open, eyes wide.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“Oh, sorry, I’m Edward,” the boy stuck out his hand and Jonathan shook it gingerly, not offering up his own name.

 

“Well, I’m sorry, Edward, but you still need to leave.”

 

Edward frowned, “Why should I?”

 

“Because this is _my_ hiding spot, and I have _no_ intention of sharing.”

 

“But I was here first!”

 

“Do I look like I care?” He didn’t. He _really_ didn’t. Jonathan looked like a lot of things – a skeleton, a scarecrow, pure resentment, even weirdly trustworthy – but ‘like he cared’ was not remotely close to making the list.

 

“Where am I supposed to go then?”

 

“Don’t care,” Jonathan shrugged, but added, “The nursery isn’t terrible, nor the kitchens if they’re empty.”

 

“The nurs – how young do you think I _am?_ ” Edward inquired. Jonathan shrugged again, “I dunno. Why should that matter? In fact, the older you are, the less likely they are to look for you there… “

 

“Then you should go. You’ve gotta be, what, twenty-five at least? What are you even hiding from? You can just _leave_.”

 

“Seventeen.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m seventeen,” Jonathan sighed, “And you’re _still_ here.”

 

“And I’m not leaving! – did you say _seventeen?_ ”

 

“Yes.”

 

“No.”

 

“And what would you know about it?”

 

“I have _eyes_ , don’t I?” Edward asked, gesturing at Jonathan with one hand, “How could a seventeen year old look like that?”

 

“Not-a-clue. Maybe I’m an immortal being trapped within this mortal form until I can sacrifice enough irritating boys to regain my godly form.”

 

Edward gaped at him for a moment before frowning again, “Very funny. Also, don’t call me a boy. I’m only one year younger than you.”

 

“Sixteen can be a boy,” Jonathan said, mostly to see how Edward would react. The results were mildly surprising – hurt, fear, and anger flashing in his eyes. This was more personal than a mere inferiority complex and a stranger in a supply closet. Jonathan cursed his own curiosity as he heard himself asking, “So what are you hiding from, then?”

 

Edward stared at his feet for a long moment before he muttered, “The Christmas party. My mother and father, they – cookies – me – behavior…”

 

Jonathan took a moment to see what he could decipher out of that before deciding to practice some of the psychological tricks he’d been reading about.

 

“Me too. Except, my grandmother, for me.”

 

Edward nodded, “What did she bring?”

 

“Bring? She organized the thing,” he scoffed, “She brought everything – ham, rolls, jam, everything.”

 

“Must be nice,” Edward said, and Jonathan frowned, “What must?”

 

“Having food like that around.”

 

“Not if you can’t eat it,” Jonathan replied, and Edward met his eye for the first time since this branch of their conversation had begun.

 

“You can’t?”

 

“Not if enjoy spending the night in a bed, rather than – “ he cut himself off. _He_ was supposed to be the one fishing for information, not the other way around, “What about you?”

 

“I’ve got a knack for baking,” Edward offered.

 

“Oh?”

 

“They make me make everything, and then they claim they did it, and if I say anything else, if I even _touch_ what _I_ made… “ he trailed off much the way Jonathan had, reaching subconsciously for his shoulder.

 

Phantom pain.

 

Interesting.

 

Jonathan felt himself forming a bond with the other boy, and he hated the fact. But it made sense, and there wasn’t much he could do to stop it. He related, he sympathized, he was curious… it was almost like he _wanted_ to get to know him better.

 

Ugh.

 

Stupid fucking human genes and their desire for social stimulation.

 

“You can stay.”

 

Edward’s gaze snapped back up to him, “You mean it?”

 

“We’re in the same boat, it seems, we might as well weather the storm together.”

 

“That sounds like the beginning of a good adventure novel.”

 

“Do you read a lot?” Jonathan asked in spite of himself.

 

“As much as I can,” Edward nodded eagerly, “It’s not always easy to get ahold of books, but they’re so much better than – “

 

“The real world?”

 

“Exactly!’

 

Great. Now Jonathan was beginning to _like_ him.

 

~          ~          ~

 

“Jon!”

 

Jonathan blinked as he was temporarily disoriented, a small but solid mass colliding with his scrawny frame. After a second he realized Edward was hugging him and lifted a hand to pat him awkwardly on the back in return.

 

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here!”

 

“I admit, it’s not often I’m found in supply closets.”

 

Edward gave him a small smile and Jonathan cursed him and himself for the swooping feeling that caused in his stomach.

 

“You know what I meant!”

 

“Because I’ve been at college?”

 

“Yes! I wasn’t sure you’d come back at all…” he bit his lip, looking askance. Jonathan stared at his own feet and shrugged, “Can’t stay in the dorms over winter break. And you know if I’m staying with the old crone, I can’t exactly skip out on church functions…”

 

“Well, I, for one, am glad,” Edward beamed, “Texting you has been the only thing keeping me sane this year, and it’s _so_ much better to see you in person.”

 

Jonathan cleared his throat, unsure how to respond.

 

Eventually he settled on changing the subject, “So, how have things been for you? Anything new?”

 

Edward shrugged noncommittally, “Eh, home life is still shitty. Mom and Dad have been getting even worse about micromanaging and stalking me. I think they’re trying to figure out how they can force me to stay once I turn eighteen.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Only a few more months, right?”

 

“Yep! And I don’t care _what_ they do, I’m gone the minute the sun rises that day.”

 

“Good for you,” Jonathan replied, and he meant it. Edward had been making a lot of progress since Jonathan had decided to befriend him and subsequently psychoanalyze him at every opportunity.

 

“Oh,” Edward glanced away, a blush blossoming on his cheeks, “I have one other piece of news. I kept it a surprise, because I wanted to tell you in person.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Instead of telling Jonathan anything, Edward reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Jonathan took it, curious, and unfolded it. His eyes widened as he recognized the crest adorning the top of the paper.

 

“ _Dear Edward N – Nygma? – we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to the College of Arts and Sciences at Gotham University_ – You applied to Gotham U? You got accepted?”

 

The questions were inane, and Jonathan knew it, but he privately savored the enthusiastic way Edward bounced on his feet as he nodded. God, he was adorable.

 

“I’m going to double major in chemistry and mech-eng!”

 

Jonathan glanced back down at the acceptance letter, “Nygma, though?”

 

“Well… I don’t want to belong to my parents anymore,” his mouth twisted into a frown before he wiped the expression away, “It wasn’t too hard to fake my new identity, though!”

 

Jonathan sighed, far too fondly for his tastes, and smiled at the ridiculous man before him.

 

“One more thing,” Edward sent him his sweetest smile, batting his eyelashes.

 

“Yes?” Jonathan braced himself for whatever was coming next.

 

“Can I live with you?”

 

“Yes,” Jonathan agreed before he’d even thought it through – and didn’t that tell him something about himself?

 

“You’re the best!”

 

Oh great. Edward was hugging him again.

 

~          ~          ~

 

“I still say making out on the altar would have the same effect,” Edward pouted.

 

Jonathan rolled his eyes, double checking that his pride and joy, his new invention, was all set for the church’s Christmas function.

 

Edward sighed, “It’s like you don’t even love me…”

 

“I’d be willing to compromise,” Jonathan offered, “We can make out on the altar once we’re sure everyone has eaten one of your _delicious_ cupcakes.”

 

“You mean it?”

 

“Look, the point is to simultaneously test my creation and punish everyone who made us suffer. Rubbing it in their faces that we turned into ‘sinful heathens’ or whatever it is they think gay people are isn’t exactly… contrary to those goals.”

 

“My point exactly!”

 

“But we still need to test the toxin.”

 

“You’re sure it’ll stay potent yet unnoticeable?”

 

“It should. Sprinkles don’t really taste like anything, they’re mostly a texture. When they bite into them, the toxin is released. I only hope the dose isn’t too small. I used what ought to be the strongest formula.”

 

“And if the dose is too small and it doesn’t work?”

 

Jonathan wrapped an arm around Edward’s shoulders, drawing him closer as he replied, “Well, they’ll be disturbed by our… display. And when they try to do something about it, we kill them all.”

 

Edward shivered at his words, but Jonathan knew it was anticipation, rather than fear.

 

“Sounds fun,” he burrowed into Jonathan’s side, all but purring as the slightly older man began carding his slender fingers through his hair.

 

“Oh it shall be, darling, it shall be _very_ fun indeed.”


	14. First Snow (Scriddler)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College!au scriddler involving Jonathan's first experience with snow

“I’m sorry, what are you doing?” Jonathan tugged his arm out of Edward’s over-enthusiastic grip.

 

“C’mon, just follow me for once?”

 

“No.”

 

“Don’t you trust me, Jon?”

 

“No.”

 

Edward pouted but returned to his prior goal of dragging Jonathan away from his desk.

 

“Unhand me!”

 

“I will not,” Edward panted, having successfully yanked the significantly taller man to his feet and partway to the door.

 

“Can’t you just explain yourself?” Jonathan sighed, ceasing in his side of the struggle to preserve his dignity.

 

“That would ruin the _surprise_ ,” he whined, looping a hand around Jonathan’s elbow to guide him out of the dorms.

 

“Are we going outside?”

 

“Shh,” Edward frowned, “Stop asking so many questions.”

 

Jonathan pursed his lips, incensed at the implication that _he_ was the irritating, talkative one of the two. Fine. If Edward wanted silence, let him have it.

 

Finally they reached the main doors of the hall, and Edward flung them open, shoving Jonathan out. He stumbled, regaining his balance as the brisk chill of the wind penetrated his ragged clothes, leaving him shivering.

 

“ _What_ ,” Jonathan fumed, “Could _possibly_ be your objective here, if not to _be murdered by your own significant other_.”

 

“I’m North to the North and I’m South to the South, I am a direction, yet I am never on a map. What am I?”

 

“If you wanted to play word games you could have just said so while we were still insi – up? What about up?”

 

“Look,” Edward insisted with a smile.

 

“Look? Look – up?” Jonathan glanced up, but before he could see anything, something cold and wet landed directly on his eyeball.

 

_“What the fuck was that?”_

 

Edward bit his lip, trying to hold in his laughter, but failed, landing on his knees and clutching his stomach as he laughed.

 

“Edward…” Jonathan’s voice trailed into a gravelly rage, “Explain yourself.”

 

Gasping for breath between laughs, Edward began stuttering out, “You – I – I – just wanted – I wanted you to – snow – see the snow – you – oh my god!”

 

“What?” Jonathan blinked, glancing back up now that his eyes were clear. Sure enough, soft, white flakes were fluttering down from the clouds. Jonathan held out one arm, watching in fascination as the tiny crystals landed on his bare skin, melting almost instantly with the heat of his blood.

 

“So, what do you think?” Edward was bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly excited by the weather, or perhaps just Jon’s inexperience with it.

 

“It’s… different.”

 

“I mean, that’s one of the fundamental traits of a snowflake, yeah,” Edward agreed. Jonathan nodded, distracted by the structures of the flakes on his shirt, which was already cold enough to sustain them for seconds at a time.

 

His reverie was broken suddenly and shockingly by an explosion of cold moisture across the lower half of his face, sticking to his lips and nearly going up his nose. Jonathan spluttered, coughing as he registered the dripping of melted snow sliding off his chin. He wiped it off with his sleeve and slowly wiped the spray of water off his glasses before turning to see the shit-eating grin on Ed’s face.

 

“Edward,” he said quietly, deadpan.

 

“Yes, Jon?” Edward asked in his sweetest, most innocent voice.

 

“That was cold.”

 

“I would imagine so. Snow _is_ frozen water, after all.”

 

Jonathan casually reached up, far above Edward’s head, a smirk growing on his own face as he watched the smugness of the other bleed into uncertainty. He broke a wicked looking icicle off an overhang on the wall, holding it like a dagger in his bare hands as he stared Edward straight in the eye.

 

“Get ready to die, Nygma.”

 

Edward let out an incredibly undignified squeak and took off, barely making it twenty feet before his foot caught on a hardened chunk of snow and he went down, crashing face first into a snowbank.

 

Jonathan dropped the icicle and copied Edward’s earlier move, doubling over with his laughter, amusement only increasing as he watched Edward attempt to wriggle out. When he finally reemerged, it was with arms crossed and a pout across his face.

 

“It’s not that funny!”

 

“On the contrary,” Jonathan assured him, “It was _certain_ _ly_ that funny, at least from where I’m standing.”

 

And then he wasn’t standing anymore because he had gotten a hair too close and had somehow missed Edward’s hand snaking out around his ankle, pulling him down on top of him.

 

“Then I guess I’ll just have to show you my perspective,” Edward replied. Jonathan raised an eyebrow at their positions, drawing Edward’s attention to their proximity.

 

“I don’t think I mind,” he decided, “Yes, I think I rather like this.”

 

“Me or the snow?” Edward asked.

 

Jonathan shrugged, “Maybe I just like you in the snow.”

 

He waited for Edward to blush and lean up for a kiss before smashing the snowball he’d been forming off to his side directly over Edward’s parted lips.

 

“Yes, I definitely like this.”

 

“…Bastard.”


	15. Watching You (Nygmobblepot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald wants to give Martin the full Christmas experience, so he buys every popular item he can find. One of them doesn't sit so well with Edward...

Edward was two-hundred and seventeen cookies in when Oswald returned home. Sure, that might have been a tad excessive, but if this was going to be his first Christmas with the family he’d chosen, he wanted it to be, well, perfect. Which for him meant going all-out in the kitchen. A bowl of dough was rising for rolls and once the last batch of cookies came out of the oven it would be time to get to work on the ham.

 

Everything was going smoothly, and really, he should have known that was a sign that it was all about to collapse under him.

 

He heard the door open and shut, the footsteps in the hall, and the rustle of bags at the table, so he wasn’t taken by surprise when arms were wrapped around his middle and Oswald leaned his head against his shoulder, sighing, “Hey Honey, I’m home.”

 

Edward smiled at the cheesy domesticity of it, melting into the embrace as best he could while still keeping a sharp eye on the oven.

 

“How did your afternoon go?” he asked, curious about Oswald’s approach to giving Martin the perfect holiday season.

 

“Wonderfully. I found a shop assistant who _wasn’t_ too terrified of me to speak, and she showed me what all the most popular gifts, decorations, and traditions were.”

 

“And did she help you decide which ones to get?” Edward questioned, a smile in his voice.

 

“Decide?” Oswald huffed, “Ed, darling… We’re rich.”

 

“Oh yeah,” he grinned, “I keep forgetting about that. You and your ability to provide for our family.”

 

“You know it,” Oswald replied, stepping back as the oven beeped and Edward dove for the oven mitts. The tray was balanced on one protected hand as he shuffled cookies onto cooling racks with a spatula in the other. He was approximately two-thirds of the way done with the task when he caught sight of one of the many purchases Oswald had deposited on the table and his entire body gave an involuntary jolt, causing the cookie currently being transferred to fly through the air and shatter against the linoleum. Edward was too busy shaking to notice the tragedy.

 

“Ed?” Oswald wasn’t paying the cookie any mind either, rushing to his fiancé’s side as he attempted to discern what was wrong, “Ed, love, are you okay? What happened?”

 

“Get – “ Edward gasped as he began to hyperventilate, “Get rid of it!”

 

“What?”

 

“That _thing!_ ”

 

Oswald tried to follow Edward’s line of sight but could only see the Christmas decorations piled haphazardly on the table.

 

“What thing? Ed? Have you started hallucinating again? Please tell me if you are, don’t keep this to yourself, don’t – “

 

“I’m not hallucinating!” Edward all but screamed, wrenching his arm out of Oswald’s fluttering grasp, “Get that thing out of my house!”

 

“ _What_ thing?” Oswald asked, exasperated.

 

“That!” Edward reached out, pointing with one shaky finger at one of the toys the girl from the shop had insisted was popular among parents these days.

 

“Elf on the Shelf?” he raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out Edward’s aversion to it, “Oh – do you, do you not like dolls?”

 

“Not particularly, but that’s not the point!” Edward was positively fuming, “Burn it if you have to, just get it out of my sight! And away from Martin. I swear, Oswald if you put that thing anywhere _near_ our boy, I will _end_ you.”

 

Oswald blinked, confused by Edward’s volatile reaction but certainly not attached to a thing that did, honestly, look rather like a soulless demon waiting to kill them in their sleep.

 

“Alright, alright,” he soothed, “I’ll get rid of it right now.”

 

“Good,” Edward crossed his arms, cookies largely forgotten.

 

“But when I get back, you and I are going to talk about this,” Oswald made Edward meet his eyes, “Okay?”

 

“Why?” Edward glanced away as soon as he could.

 

“Because that’s not a normal reaction to a children’s toy and I’m _worried_ about you, dear.”

 

“Oh,” Edward said, before shaking his head, “That’s _not_ a children’s toy.”

 

“Okay,” Oswald placated him, taking the offending item from the table, “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Take care of those cookies while I’m gone, and don’t burn yourself.”

 

“Yes, dear,” Edward snarked, but he sighed in relief afterwards as well.

 

He finished transferring the cookies and even cleaned up the smashed one before Oswald returned, one creepy doll lighter.

 

“Let’s sit down,” Oswald suggested, guiding Edward to the couch in the living room.

 

Edward sank into the cushion, staring at his clasped hands as he waited to be interrogated. Oswald sighed and laid a hand on his shoulder.

 

“So?”

 

“So what?”

 

“What happened?” Oswald asked, “Why did you hate that thing so much?”

 

Edward shrugged.

 

“Ed.”

 

“We had one,” he caved reluctantly, “Growing up.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“It was terrifying. It was always watching me, all my mistakes. They told me it would report everything I did to them. I knew, logically, it was just an inanimate object, but imagination can be strong… besides, I couldn’t rule out the possibility of cameras being in it somewhere. The rest of the year, I could at least feel safe when I was in my own room, most of the time. I could have a moment to myself. But during the holidays, that – that _thing_ would be watching me, always. They liked to put it right across from my bed so that it would stare at me all night. They said it would deter me from trying anything like sneaking out. I – I couldn’t escape them when that thing was in the house. I was always looking over my shoulder, always on edge – more than usual, I mean. It’s – it’s _horrifying_. No one should have to live in that much fear,” he shuddered again, shutting his eyes against whatever memories were haunting him.

 

Oswald drew him nearer, rubbing a hand across his back.

 

“I’m sorry, Ed. I didn’t know. I just wanted to give Martin the best Christmas money could buy, and I assumed if it was popular than he ought to have it. I didn’t think – “

 

“Most people probably don’t,” Edward allowed, sniffing despite the lack of tears, “But even when they don’t mean it, it’s still a breach of privacy and a manipulation tactic. It’s not okay.”

 

“It doesn’t sound like it,” Oswald agreed.

 

“It’s really gone?”

 

“Yes, Ed. It’s gone.”

 

“Good,” Edward buried his head in Oswald’s shoulder.

 

“Would you like to see the rest of what I bought?” he proposed, “I promise it’s mostly wreaths and lights, no more possessed dolls.”

 

Edward gave a weak laugh, “Alright. Would you like to try a cookie?”

 

“I would love nothing more.”


	16. Advice (Nygmobblepot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory Fake Dating!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for any mistakes. I must've fallen asleep ten times while writing this after a nearly 24-hour day...

“One moment,” Oswald’s voice rang across the sub shop as the bell over the door rang, signaling a new customer. Edward waited patiently, arms resting on the counter as he attempted to infer what Oswald might be doing. Searching for something in the kitchens, evidently.

 

“Hi, sorry for the w – Ed!” he greeted as he caught sight of his long-time friend. Edward had been coming to the sub shop for over three years, since he’d first been accepted at Gotham U. Oswald had been working there even longer, and the two were instantly drawn to the disposition of the other. While they didn’t have much of a chance to hang out outside of the shop, the fact that Edward always came late at night, when Oswald was the only worker in the building, meant that they had spent many an hour chatting across one of the cramped, plastic booths.

 

“The usual?” Oswald asked, already halfway through cutting open the correct loaf of bread.

 

“Of course,” Edward grinned, reminding himself that anyone who bought the same sandwich every week for three years was bound to stick in his mind, and that it wasn’t because Edward was special. His gaze was locked on the deft hands of the other as he prepared the sandwich at lightning speed.

 

“I wasn’t sure you’d still be on campus,” Oswald admitted while he worked.

 

“Where – where else would I be?” Edward frowned.

 

“I’m well aware that finals ended on Friday,” Oswald stated, “You’re on Christmas break now, aren’t you?”

 

“I – I suppose so.”

 

“So I figured you’d gone home.”

 

“Don’t have one.”

 

“You don’t have a… home?”

 

“No.”

 

“But then, what are you planning to do for the holidays?”

 

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “Ignore them, I guess.”

 

Oswald bit his lip, obviously weighing the pros and cons of something.

 

“I – I hesitate to ask this, since I consider us friends but I don’t know where you stand, but, would you mind terribly, pretending to be my boyfriend for Christmas dinner?”

 

Edward choked on air.

 

“It’s just – my mother, she – she’s always getting on my case about ‘painted women’ and I figured if I could just show up to dinner with a boyfriend, maybe she’d finally get that I’m _gay_ , you know? Only, I don’t have a boyfriend. There’s good food, and it’s just my mother, so it’s not like you’d have to deal with lots of people. I could even pay you, if – “

 

“I’ll do it,” Edward said, perhaps too quickly. Well, if this was the closest he would ever get to a date with the other man, he was sure as hell going to take the chance. It couldn’t hurt to pretend for a day, could it?

 

“You will?” Oswald was staring at him like he couldn’t quite believe his ears.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Edward glanced around, at anything besides Oswald, “We’re friends. What time and where?”

 

~          ~          ~

 

“You sure this will work?”

 

“Of course,” Oswald waved his hand, “My mother will absolutely eat you up. I mean, look at you – you’re wearing a sweater over a button down!”

 

Edward self-consciously smoothed his choice of outfit down, wondering if he’d made a mistake.

 

“You’re perfect.”

 

Edward had to blink at that, until Oswald cleared his throat and continued, “I mean, you’re mild-mannered, gentlemanly, intellectual – and you look the part! She’ll love you.”

 

He fiddled with the hem of his sweater, left hand unavailable as it clasped a present he’d bought for Gertrud, to help sell the ‘ideal boyfriend’ look.

 

Oswald knocked and he held his breath, waiting for the door to open.

 

When it did, it was practically thrown open as Gertrud stepped out to hug Oswald tightly. Was this how normal mother’s behaved? Edward shook the thought away as Gertrud caught sight of him. She looked him up and down, beaming, and exclaimed, “And you must be the boyfriend!”

 

Edward was caught off guard as she engulfed him in a hug of his own, and his head spun as he tried to recall if Oswald had said he’d tell her before or during the dinner about their ‘relationship’.

 

“Merry Christmas, Ms. Kapelput,” he offered, holding out the package.

 

“Oh! A present! For me?” she pointed at herself as she relieved him of his burden, guiding them both inside the small yet heavily decorated apartment.

 

“Of course,” Edward nodded, “It’s polite to give a gift to the hostess, after all.”

 

“Oh, a _proper_ gentleman,” she grinned, placing the present on a countertop adorned with a small tree and  six other packages.

 

“I like him,” she stage whispered to Oswald. Edward blushed, taking a step back as if to hide behind his ‘boyfriend’. Oswald laid a hand on his arm and intercepted his mother’s strong personality, “Mother, is dinner ready, or is there anything we can do to help?”

 

“Oh heavens, no,” Gertrud looked towards the ceiling in faux despair, “Everything is already done, save for the dessert. Come, sit your beaux down and I shall bring everything to the table.”

 

“Are you su – “

 

“Sit! Sit!” she insisted, all but pulling a chair out for Edward and shoving him down into it. Oswald took the hint and seated himself.

 

“Thank you, Ms. Kapelput,” Edward said carefully. She smiled at him, nearly innocently, and sent a suggestive look towards Oswald, asking, “Is this the boy you were asking me for relationship advice with?”

 

“Asking for what?” Edward squeaked.

 

“Before the first snow of the year,” she began, “My boy came to me all in tears over some boy who would _never_ notice him. I gave him some advice, which I assume is how he managed to land _you_. Now sit, I will fetch the food.”

 

Edward sat back in his chair, watching Oswald bury his face in his hands.

 

“Is that true?” he finally asked. Oswald pulled himself together with frightening speed, looking up to ask, “Is what true?”

 

“Did you really ask your mother for dating advice about me?

 

“Well… “ Oswald stared at his hands, “I’m sorry, Edward. It is. I asked my mother how to ask you out a – a while ago. I know you may feel like I lured you here under false circumstances. The truth is, I’ve – I’ve had a crush on you for _ages_. You can leave if you want.”

 

“Why would I leave?” Edward asked, a slow smile spreading over his features.

 

“What?”

 

“If – if you’re serious – _please_ be serious – then… I have no objections.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

Oswald stood up at that, skirting the table in order to stand before Edward.

 

“You want to be my _real_ boyfriend?”

 

“Gods, yes,” Edward breathed, leaning up to offer his lips as perfectly kissable.

 

Oswald was only too happy to oblige.


	17. Machiavellian Absolutism (Nygmobblepot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loosely based on that scene in Elf where he says there are three jobs that elfs can have (key word: loosely)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? If you figure it out, please tell me in the comments - I'm dying to know.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that there are three jobs for elfs: baking cookies, cobbling, or making toys for Santa Claus himself. The order of the hierarchy is clear – Santa Claus is the ultimate decider, ruling over all the elfin lands, with the capital located at the North Pole. Elfs in the capital were of the highest rank, followed by the bakers – but only because they were allowed to stay put. Tree communities were strict in their adherence to the rules laid out by Santa, and uniformity was all the rage. Cobblers were allowed more freedom and creativity, but they were also generally considered as vagabonds, living in cheap, impersonal cubicles while awaiting their latest assignments.

 

Edward Nygma was a born and raised baker. His odd personality was rescued only by his natural affinity for the art, and he had become a reluctantly accepted member of the community inside a grand beech tree. Many a night saw him climbing from his window to a branch too small to contain rooms, losing himself in the stars and he dreamed of a world where his love of riddles and compulsive need to talk were welcomed, where he wouldn’t try to hide behind his one ‘good’ skill. And it was on one of these nights, that Edward noticed something new. Something that, at first glance, appeared _magical_.

 

A glowing light, clinging to a branch a few meters above his head.

 

_Faerie Fire._

 

A mischievous light that would lead travelers into the forest until they became lost and died, according to folklore.

 

A fungus preying on a dying tree, according to science.

 

Edward had read enough to know both these interpretations. Caught between the beauty of it and the horror that _his home was dying_ , Edward stood, frozen, for many long minutes. Finally he recognized that there was little he could do, and returned to his bed of soft leaves, determined to ignore what had to be a bad omen.

 

The next day he was taking a batch of perfect molasses crinkles out of the oven when he heard someone enter the room. Spinning around, he nearly fell over when he laid eyes on Tom Dougherty. Dougherty ran a kitchen further down the tree, and his personality fit _right_ in with the community guidelines. Edward gulped. Dougherty rarely talked to him unless it was to laugh at him. Or twist his arm and remind him to keep his ‘unnaturalness’ away from Dougherty’s ‘proper’ community. _All_ Edward had done was try to convince Kristen Kringle, whose parents were _obviously_ hoping for a bit of social mobility for their daughter, that maybe creativity was what they needed to rekindle the spark of joy in baked goods that their customers seemed to have lost…

 

“So, Eddie,” Dougherty clapped him on the shoulder much too hard, and Edward nearly dropped his tray of cookies, “How’s it hanging?”

 

“Er – “

 

“Good! Glad to hear it!” he clapped him on the shoulder again and Edward jolted forward with the force of it, “Now, I bet you’re wondering, why would little old you have attracted the attention of somebody as suave and popular as me.”

 

“Well, I – “

 

“You see, I need a bit of help. I know! Me!” Dougherty clapped a hand over his own chest this time, “But you see, we’re putting on a bit of pageant tomorrow night, to celebrate Christmas and all, and, see, one of our mechanical reindeer may have just rusted through, so we need a replacement, and fast.”

 

“You want me to be a reindeer?”

 

“Yeah! Just put on the antlers and the harness, and you don’t even have to say anything. Just help the other reindeer pull the sleigh to the center of the stage, let myself and Kristen get in, and carry us off. Now, I know you’ll do it, so – “

 

“Why would I do that?” Edward crossed his arms, “That sounds humiliating.”

 

“Yeah, and?” Dougherty blinked, “You’re the freak. Besides, you know the rules – everybody in the community contributes. You don’t want to get kicked out, do you?”

 

Edward snapped his jaw shut, fuming.

 

“See, I knew we could count on you,” Dougherty gave him one last harsh smack on the back, grinning, “Well, I’ll be on my – “

 

His words were cut off in a rather undignified squawk as he felt his arm yanked towards the counter and he felt cold metal encase his wrist.

 

“Nygma? What the fuc - ?”

 

Edward stared at his handiwork, not yet able to believe he’d really done it. After so many years of allowing himself to be degraded just to fit in, he’d begun to believe he didn’t have it in him to fight back. But here he was, one of his chief tormentors, handcuffed to the solid oak island counter, unable to escape.

 

“What are you playing at?” he snarled, struggling against the manacles.

 

“The tree is dying,” Edward said in a flat tone, “The wood will be dry.”

 

“What?”

 

“This tree has been my only true companion, the only one who has not mocked me or used me in any way,” he continued, eyes unseeing, as if in a trance, “It is only right that I should return the favor by putting it out of its misery. It wouldn’t be very nice of me to let my friend suffer a long and painful death, now would it?”

 

“What are you talking about, man?”

 

“Faerie Fire. There’s Faerie Fire on this tree. It’s a lost cause,” he said, monotone, as he moved to his counter and picked up a bottle of oil and a bottle of alcohol. He opened them both and began pouring them over the dry wood of the kitchen, finishing over the island counter and Dougherty himself.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I suppose I should be cliché,” he replied, eyes returning to the present as his voice took on a dark tone Dougherty had never heard, “And say, ‘Something I should have done a long time ago,’”

 

He moved to the stove, setting up a small contraption to open the gas valve when a timer set at five minutes hit zero. He opened the oven door and turned it on, staying just long enough to watch the flame begin to follow the oil and alcohol up to the wooden kitchen.

 

“Edward?” Dougherty asked, voice filled with a fear that Edward savored, “Let me go. Let me go!”

 

“No,” he said simply, leering at his tormentor, “Burn in hell, buster.”

 

With that, he strolled out of the kitchen. He was leaving nothing behind, he could simply leave. His crime had been spur of the moment, so he’d had no time to cover his tracks. If anyone survived, it wouldn’t be hard to point the finger at him. It was time to see if he had the brains to survive in the wild forests around his beech.

 

Once outside, he hurried away to a safe distance, where he found himself a good view of the chaos. Screaming followed him to his hiding place as the flames began licking up the tree, devouring the dying wood with a passion. He counted down in his head: _five, four, three, two, one –_

 

_BOOM_

 

A good third of the tree went up in flames as the gas was released, creating what was essentially a fireball within his initial kitchen. He hoped Dougherty had had time to suffer before being consumed in the blaze.

 

Well, he wiped his hands off on his apron, his job here was done. Now, to find himself a new home…

 

Perhaps he could even find some wild lamb’s ear to make his new bed.

 

~          ~          ~

 

“Hand over your hammer and scissors, elf,” Galavan held out his hand. Oswald slammed his tools into it, hoping that he might have cut the man.

 

“Let this be a lesson to all,” Galavan addressed the crowd that had been assembled to watch Oswald’s shame, “That order is of the utmost importance in elfin society. To try and change the order of the world shall achieve nothing but pain and embarrassment. You have harmed none so much as yourself, today,” he addressed the last to Oswald.

 

“And now, Oswald Cobblepot, I banish you from the Realm of Claus for-ever.”

 

Oswald spat in his face before two of the burlier elfs grabbed him by the elbows and dragged him away, tossing him at the edge of the forest.

 

“Don’t come back,” one of them sneered. Instead of releasing him as he expected, one of them picked him up, ignoring his protests, as the other removed his shoes.

 

“But my feet! They’ll freeze!”

 

“These are the marks of a cobbler elf,” the man snarled, “You are nothing but a pathetic disgrace. I hope you do freeze, and die of frostbite.”

 

They bound his hands behind his back and tossed him to the ground, the silent one giving him a kick for good measure before they strolled away, cruel laughter floating back on the chill wind.

 

Oswald shivered, giving himself a moment to rest before attempting to drag himself to his feet without the use of his hands. It took him four tries, but finally he made it. His nose hurt badly, but there was nothing he could do for it. His feet were already screaming from the cold of the not-quite frozen ground as he began his trek into the woods, searching for a warm place to curl up or a sharp rock to cut his bonds.

 

After an unknown amount of time, but what felt like hours at _least_ , Oswald’s eyelids were beginning to droop, his feet could no longer feel anything, and he was beginning to think his nose had been broken and a trickle of blood had dried over his mouth.

 

It was around this time that the scent of freshly baked cookies reached him.

 

He stopped, blinked, sniffed the air again.

 

Definitely cookies.

 

Oh joy, he was hallucinating now.

 

Still, if he was going to die, let it be surrounded by that warm, inviting scent. So he saw no issue in attempting to follow it.

 

Some ten minutes later, the scent was stronger and he had picked up on a sort of humming – a pleasant voice, he mused. At least his dying brain was giving him something nice to imagine.

 

“What happened to _you?_ ”

 

He jumped at the sound of a voice, looking around for it’s owner before noticing the pair of eyes peering out of the holly.

 

“Who – “ his throat was dry, his voice cracking, and his lips sticking together with dried blood, so he coughed and tried again, “Who – or what – are you?”

 

The owner of the eyes stepped out of the spiky plant, carefully avoiding the prickly leaves. Oswald gasped as the most beautiful creature he had ever seen approached him. The elf stuck out a hand, with a hesitant smile.

 

“I’m Edward. I’m a – I _was_ a baker elf.”

 

Oswald moved to shake his hand, forgetting that his wrists were tied together, and accidentally jerking his body forward. Edward caught him with one hand, a concerned frown marring his pretty features.

 

“Are you okay? No, that’s a silly question. You’re bleeding and bound, of course you’re not okay,” he muttered, almost to himself, looping one hand around Oswald’s upper arm and pulling him towards the holly, “C’mon, my home is behind here. I’ll get you cleaned up.”

 

He pulled him through the holly and into a hole that it concealed, leading him into the root of some long-gone tree. The home was warm and cozy, albeit small, with a lamb’s ear bed on one side and a tiny oven on the other, nothing but a table and chairs between them.

 

“How did you get such rich furnishings?” Oswald heard himself asking.

 

“The woods are full of resources, ripe for the taking,” his savior answered, leading him over to the luxurious bed and sitting him down.

 

“I’m going to fix your nose first,” Edward informed him, gently prodding at it until he found the tiny break and pushing it back in place. Oswald cried out, before it was over and Edward was dabbing at the dried blood with a damp cloth.

 

“You’re lucky it broke that way,” he murmured as he cleaned off the other’s face, “Safer for you.”

 

“That’s – that’s nice,” he said faintly.

 

“Now, what else happened to you?” Edward asked, eyeing his bedraggled form, “Exhaustion, soreness, and – oh! Your feet!”

 

He rushed to the other side of the room, rummaging around in a cabinet before pulling out a large bowl and filling it with water.

 

“Here, put your feet in this,” he said, placing it on the ground in front of the bed, “If there’s anything that can be done for them, this is it.”

 

Gingerly, Oswald lowered his feet to the bowl. He had to admit, it did soothe the freezing burn that moving from cold to warm had granted them.

 

“The – um – the bonds?” he suggested, once his host had ceased fluttering.

 

Edward bit his lip, “Can – can you tell me what you did first? It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just… you _are_ rather suspicious…”

 

Oswald had to laugh at that, “You’re not wrong…”

 

He sat for a moment, enjoying the water over his abused feet as he considered his words. Finally he said, “I tried to start a rebellion.”

 

“I’m sorry?” Edward blinked.

 

“I was a cobbler elf. I didn’t like the class system, or the fact that it’s nearly impossible to change careers from what you were born into, or the part where we’re all basically just serfs of this ‘Santa Claus’ fellow. Who put him in charge, anyways? Who agreed on his leadership? He’s just a dictator, and a Machiavellian absolutist, at that!”

 

Edward was staring at him now.

 

“…what?”

 

“You – you tried to start a rebellion. Against _Santa Claus_.”

 

“Yes! I’m not just going to sit around and take his orders all day!”

 

Edward burst out laughing, “That’s brilliant! I’d – I’ve never even considered that as a _possibility_!”

 

“Well what did you do to get banished then? Or did you just leave?”

 

“More or less,” Edward shrugged, “I locked a man I didn’t like in my kitchen and burned down my entire community. No one’s come after me yet, but I suppose it’s not uncommon for baking tree communities to burn down.”

 

Oswald took his opportunity to laugh, “Well, I wouldn’t have pegged you for an arsonist, much less a murderer. Good for you.”

 

“Yeah,” Edward nodded, “Same to you.”

 

“So about those bonds…?”

 

Edward hesitated again, but this time he reached for a knife, “Would you,” he swallowed hard, “Would you, maybe, consider staying with me? We can easily live out here, and – and maybe I could help you plan another one?”

 

“Another what?” Oswald blinked.

 

“Another rebellion,” Edward twisted a hand into his apron in discomfort, “Or – or not a rebellion, since we’re not citizens anymore. Maybe we could invade?”

 

Oswald chuckled, “A two man invasion against the Realm of Claus?”

 

“Well, maybe – “

 

“Sounds just crazy enough for me to try,” he replied, “And _of course_ I’ll stay.”

 

“You will?” Edward’s entire body seemed to light up with excitement.

 

“Of course.”

 

Edward practically bounded over to free him, hand lingering perhaps a touch too long on Oswald’s wrist.

 

On instinct, Oswald flipped his hand around and caught Edward’s before he had the chance to remove it.

 

“Osw – “

 

“Did you ask me to stay just because you wanted to help me, or were there… other reasons?”

 

Edward refused to meet his eyes, swallowing again, “I – I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“Well, if I’m wrong, then please forgive me,” he said lightly, before leaning up to capture the baker’s lips in his own. Edward immediately relaxed against him, placing his free hand on Oswald’s shoulder. Oswald pulled back and Edward let out a whine, before promptly slapping a hand over his mouth and blushing. Oswald grinned at him, “Was I right?”

 

Edward lowered his hand and pouted, “Maybe… If you – if you want to…”

 

“Didn’t I just make it clear whether or not I wanted to?” Oswald asked, “Or do I need to show you again?”


	18. Compromise (Scriddler)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward just wants to decorate with his boyfriend. It takes a little more than the usual pleading to get Jonathan to comply, much to Jonathan's chagrin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how hospitals work

“Absolutely not.”

 

“ _Jo-o-on!”_ Edward whined, “Why not?”

 

“Because this entire holiday is ridiculous? Because I’m a grown man? Because I’m busy? The list goes on, Edward.”

 

Edward huffed, crossing his arms as he glared at his partner, “It’s _fun_.”

 

“If it’s so fun, then you shouldn’t have a problem with doing it all yourself.”

 

“It’s fun to do _with others_.”

 

“Then call Harleen. I’m sure she’d love to help.”

 

“She’s probably decorating with Pamela, Jon! _You’re_ my boyfriend, _you_ should help me.”

 

“No.”

 

“What about the stuff that I can’t reach?” he switched tactics, “Please? You’re so much taller, and your arms are so long, you can easily reach the top of the tree, above the windows, all kinds of high places!”

 

“My answer is not going to change, Eddie,” Jonathan sighed, picking up his book and returning to his place. Edward continued huffing and fuming for a while before throwing up his arms and walking out. Jonathan sighed at the silence, before the sounds of rummaging reached him. At least he’d gotten he message and decided to do this nonsense on his own.

 

An hour and a half later, Jonathan was deep into his book when he was startled to his senses by a loud crash. Instantly on his feet, he snapped the book shut and all but slammed it on the desk, rushing towards the source of the noise. Long before he reached it, the sounds of pained gasps and sobs began echoing through the house and he picked up his pace. Finally he found Edward, lying on the ground at the base of a ladder, a string of lights dangling down over the window. Jonathan had no mind for the decorations, rushing to his partner’s side.

 

It was obvious that the man was clutching his leg to him, and upon closer inspection Jonathan realized he’d broken his shin. Jonathan was not a squeamish man by any means, but the sight of his lover’s mangled limb made even him cringe.

 

He quickly did a mental run through of their current records – cleared of charged, unsuspected, fully served sentences – no one was after either of them at the moment. Thank fuck.

 

Jonathan brushed one thumb over Edward’s temple and said, “I’ll get you something for the pain, and then I’m taking you to Gotham General.”

 

Edward didn’t have it in him to respond.

 

~          ~          ~

 

The waiting room was irritating. Too bright, too many people, too much… everything. Jonathan didn’t pace, just sat in the corner with his limbs drawn close, waiting to be called over for the results. He couldn’t help but feel the guilt gnawing away inside him. Edward had been right – he could have easily reached the top of that window. Edward shouldn’t have been leaning over on a ladder like that, he shouldn’t have –

 

“Mr. Crane?” a man in a clean uniform called, a nervous tremor in his voice, and Jonathan smirked as he forced himself to stride over.

 

“Doctor,” he said calmly.

 

“I’m not a doctor,” the man replied.

 

“No,” Jonathan agreed, “But I am.”

 

“Oh, sorry,” he answered, voice shaking harder, “Dr. Crane. Your – um – your partner’s condition isn’t wonderful, of course, but it’s not serious, either. He’ll need to be in a cast for some time, and when he begins walking again he’ll need crutches for awhile. Will you be available to help with the physical therapy?”

 

“Yes. Can I see him now?”

 

“Oh, of course,” the man nodded, “Er – follow me.”

 

Jonathan said nothing more, silently itching for the man to go faster as he led him through the bright white hallways to a darker room.

 

“Edward!”

 

“Hey, Jon,” Edward replied, voice weak.

 

“You can stay with him,” the man said.

 

“I know,” Jonathan stated, “Thank you.”

 

“Oh,” the man seemed not to know how to respond, “I’ll – er – I’ll leave you two alone.”

 

He left the room with much fumbling and when he was finally gone, Jonathan sighed. He reached out to take Edward’s hand where it lay limply on the bed. The pressure Edward sent back was feeble, but it was there. Jonathan bowed his head and brought Edward’s hand up to his lips, laying his cheek on it afterwards.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“Eh,” Edward shrugged, “I’ve been better. Mostly I’m just sad.”

 

“Sad?” Jonathan breathed, “About what?”

 

“I tried _so_ hard, you know,” Edward sighed, tears welling in his eyes, “So hard to make this the perfect Christmas. We were in Arkham for our first one, so I figured… But everything went wrong. I guess I just wasn’t meant to have this. I just – I just wanted – “

 

He trailed off into his tears and Jonathan leaned over to cup his head and kiss them off his face.

 

“Shh, Ed, shh,” he soothed, a combination of his genuine worry peeking through and his trained skill of calming people, “You’re on a lot of pain medication, it’s making you emotional.”

 

“I know,” Edward gasped, “But I still…”

 

“I understand,” Jonathan whispered, “Shh. You need to rest. Are you tired?”

 

“Uh – huh,” Edward nodded, his dampened eyelids drooping even as he said it. Emotional exhaustion was a great contributor towards physical exhaustion, and Jonathan had no issues manipulating these facts.

 

“Then go to sleep. I need to swing by the house and pick up some things, and I’ll be right back.”

 

“Promise?” Edward mumbled.

 

“I promise, darling.”

 

~          ~          ~

 

They didn’t talk about Edward’s breakdown when he woke up the next morning, Jonathan back in the room but having slept a grand total of twenty minutes in the padded guest chair.

 

“They’ve finished up their checks and tests by now,” Jonathan informed him, “You’ll be all set to go in an hour.”

 

“That’s nice,” Edward said, and Jonathan sighed at how despondent of a figure he cut.

 

“Well don’t look so happy about it,” he deadpanned.

 

“Jon – “ Edward looked at him, “Just, don’t. Please? Not right now.”

 

“Okay,” Jonathan agreed, taking his hand again.

 

Once all the paperwork was taken care of, and Edward had been placed in one of the hospital’s temporary wheel chair while Jonathan arranged for the things he’d need to rent, they made their way out towards Jonathan’s truck.

 

“You going to be okay?” Jonathan asked in a gruff tone as Edward shifted on the passenger seat. He paused, looking at his hands, before replying, “Physically, yes.”

 

“And mentally? Emotionally?”

 

“I’ll get over it.”

 

Jonathan didn’t reply, just began driving. Edward stared out the window, watching all the other, beautifully decorated houses pass them by on the familiar drive home, trying to convince himself that Christmas wasn’t ruined.

 

He nearly asked Jonathan why they were turning into someone else’s driveway when he managed to recognize their house beneath the flawlessly strung lights and assorted holiday decorations.

 

“What the - ?” He leaned forward, hands on the dashboard, as he inspected their yard, “How?”

 

He glanced over at Jonathan who was trying and failing to hide a smirk.

 

“How?!”

 

“I may have… been to harsh with you earlier. You just wanted to spend some time with me, celebrating the holidays,” Jonathan glanced at his own hands on the steering wheel, “I never intended for you to get hurt because of me. So I finished everything while you were at the hospital last night.”

 

“…Everything?”

 

“Well, I left the tree. I thought, perhaps,” Jonathan cleared his throat, unused to such sentimentality, “You would want to decorate that together?”

 

“Oh, _Jon!_ ” Edward flung his arms around the man, leaning rather awkwardly across the truck to kiss him, “You did all that for me?”

 

“It’s not fair of me not to compromise,” Jonathan answered, as detached and clinically as possible. Edward rolled his eyes, “Whatever. _I’m_ going to take it as a sign that you love me.”

 

“I do love you,” Jonathan blinked.

 

“Well, good, ‘cause I love you, too.”


	19. Captain's Log (Nygmobblepot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barely holiday related, but oh well. Sort of a steampunk!au
> 
> Content warnings for "suggestive themes" ;)

“Get up!”

 

Edward blinked awake, trying to discern his location. He was lying on a hard wooden floor, his head resting on a burlap sack filled with some sort of grain. He began to stand up when he felt something sharp jab him in the chest. Glasses askew, he squinted up to see what appeared to be at least four people, all armed, glaring down at him. He slowly raised his hands, scrambling up into a sitting position. His glasses fell back into place, albeit further down his nose than he would like.

 

Now able to see properly, he examined his attackers and quickly came to a startling realization: he was surrounded by pirates. A memory returned to him, of fleeing his laboratory after discovering the operation his boss, Dr. Strange, was hiding beneath Wayne Enterprises. Of fleeing from pursuit, into an airship that happened to be docked at the time.

 

Oh dear.

 

The bald one jabbing the barrel of his pistol into Edward’s chest moved it to lift his tattered leather coat, examining the apparel.

 

“What do we have here, boys?” he asked, looking back at his companions for a moment before looking back, “Not the nicest of clothes, but they’d fetch a fair price.”

 

“He’d fetch a better one, I dare say,” one of the other pirates guffawed. Edward flinched backwards, hands still raised in surrender. The pirate examining him sent a glare back at his companion, “The captain doesn’t do human trafficking, you know that.”

 

“Yeah, well, I don’t see why not. It’s a lucrative business.”

 

“We aren’t exactly _poor_ , my dude,” the bald one drawled, “If he wants to keep a moral code, I’m all for it.”

 

“Yeah, well – “

 

“Shut up,” he snapped, obviously wielding some form of power over the others. Edward swallowed, deciding that he was the best one to reason with.

 

“Excuse me, sir,” he spoke up nervously, “I didn’t mean to be a stowaway. I was just looking for a place to hide for a moment. Please don’t kill me.”

 

The bald man looked back at him, pointing the pistol upwards and extending a hand to shake, “I’m Victor Zsasz. And I’m not the one to make that call.”

 

“Edward,” he offered, shaking the hand, “Is there anything I could do…?”

 

“If you’ll follow me to the captain, you can plead your case to him.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

They blindfolded him and bound his hands as they led him to the deck, removing the blindfold and tying up his ankles once they’d reached their destination. He was forced into a kneeling position, head bowed, as Zsasz stood off to one side and the other pirates stood around him in a circle. He could hear more wandering over to join, curious as to what was going on.

 

Finally he heard the imperious click of heeled boots, and their shiny forms appeared before his vision as a nasally voice spoke over his head, “And what have you brought for me, gentlemen?”

 

“Stowaway,” one of the other men offered. Zsasz drawled, “Claims he was here by mistake. Wants to beg for mercy.”

 

Well that wasn’t _quite_ what Edward had said, but he supposed it might be advice as to what he should do as much as an exaggeration.

 

“Oh?”

 

A cane entered his line of sight and he felt the hard tip of it under his chin, forcing his head up. His first impression of the captain was one of awe. While his height wasn’t that impressive, he had an air of clear authority about him and the face of royalty. Edward couldn’t help but let out a soft gasp.

 

“Who are you and why should I not let my men here blow your brains out?”

 

Edward flinched at the threat to his favorite organ, before he sucked in a breath and began, “My name is Edward Nygma, Sir. I am – was – a chemist for Wayne Enterprises. I discovered some horrific secrets yesterday, but I was seen by the man behind them, Dr. Hugo Strange. He sent his men to kill me, to ensure my silence, but I managed to escape. I didn’t mean to board your ship, it was just the first place I could hide. I intended to leave again, once I thought it was safe, but I must have passed out. I’m so sorry, please don’t kill me, I mean no harm, I – “

 

“Enough,” the captain held up a hand. Edward snapped his mouth shut.

 

“I shall make you a deal: those secrets in exchange for your life. You will, obviously, be aboard until we dock again, but there is a room and if you keep to it, you will remain safe until such time. If you refuse to give up the secrets, I shall have you killed on the spot. Sound fair?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Edward nodded, “Thank you, sir.”

 

“Well then, Zsasz – untie his legs. Edward, did you say? Edward, follow me to my cabin. We have secrets to discuss.”

 

~          ~          ~

 

“Thank you again, for sparing me,” Edward said when he was done. The captain waved a hand, “You have done more for me, I think. This information will be _vital_ to my plans.”

 

“Oh,” Edward chewed on his lower lip, unsure what else to say.

 

“Now that business is concluded,” the captain said, “I would like to invite you to accompany me to the Yule Feast we’ll be hosting next week. You’ll still be on board the ship, and I’ve become quite bored of the crew. But you – a _scientist_ – you might provide me with some intelligent conversation at last. Dine with me each night, here, in my cabin, and accept my invitation. It will give us both something to do.”

 

Edward wasn’t sure if he _could_ say no, so he didn’t.

 

~          ~          ~

 

“Every year I hold a feast, a celebration, during Yule for my crew. It keeps up morale, and we always have more than enough for a night or two of revelry,” Oswald – for he _insisted_ that Edward call him Oswald – explained as they sat at the head table in the makeshift feast hall.

 

Edward nodded, fascinated by the culture he had been able to witness aboard the airship.

 

“How are you liking the food?” Oswald asked, passing him a basket of warm rolls.

 

“It’s delicious,” Edward admitted, “I wouldn’t have expected so much from a kitchen detached from land.”

 

“That’s just because we managed to steal so much in the past few weeks,” Oswald told him, “I have yet to find a chef capable of making preserved rations taste so good.”

 

“I could,” Edward said before he realized he was saying it, “I – I mean – I’m a very good cook, is all.”

 

“Are you indeed?” Oswald asked, but his tone was ponderous, not doubtful.

 

“I think so,” Edward finished meekly. He jumped when Oswald laid a hand over his own on the table.

 

“Tell you what, Edward. You have skills that I could use, but I will be frank with you: you are more alluring than a siren.”

 

Edward’s eyes widened, “What – “

 

Oswald held up a hand, “Let me finish. I promised to drop you off when next we were in port. I can keep that promise, if you wish. But I would hate myself forever if I didn’t even give you the option of staying. If – if there is a part of you that likes it here, that wants to stay, you are _more_ than welcome to do so. You may stay on as a chef and scientist, if you so choose, although I will be honest in saying that the role I would most wish for you to take is as my lover. I know pirates are outlaws, and we have a reputation for having no morals, but I live by a code of my own. I will not make you stay, nor will I force you to accept my advances if you wish to stay as a crewmember only. The choice is yours, I merely wanted to offer it to you.”

 

Edward gaped at him, brain frantically trying to decipher his statements. Oswald wanted… _him_. As a _lover_.

 

Oswald shrugged, equal parts embarrassed and amused as he added, “If you _really_ like, you could stay on solely in the role of lover. I am not in _desperate_ need of crew, so if that was the part that appealed to you…”

 

“I – “ Edward looked around, trying to wrap his mind around the proposition, “I – I would like to stay.”

  
“You would?” Oswald asked, nearly breathless, “In what position?”

 

“I – I – Both?”

 

“Both what?”

 

“Both a worker, chef, chemist or otherwise, and your – your l – lover,” his cheeks burned as he spoke and he buried his face in his hands. Oswald broke out into a wide, relieved grin and pried the hands away, enjoying Edward’s blush almost as much as he enjoyed his answer.

 

“I’m so glad, Ed,” he told him, holding his hands reverently. Edward gave a tentative smile of his own, until Oswald spoke again, “The bed in my cabin is much more comfortable than the hammock in the little cubby you’ve been staying in. You’ll love it,” he winked, “Maybe you won’t even want to leave it.”

 

Edward let out a sound somewhere between a whine and a groan and wrenched his hands free to bury his face in them again.

 

Oswald cackled, “You’re not in the city anymore, sweetheart. You’ll learn to drop that shame before long. Hell, one day you’ll probably be strutting around in the most eye-catching fineries, reveling in the attention rather than hiding from it.”

 

“…I doubt it.”

 

“We’ll see,” Oswald shrugged, “But just remember than the only ceremony people stand on on _this_ ship is the ceremony I dictate.”

 

He emphasized his statement by sliding a hand up Edward’s thigh, well over the line of impropriety. Edward let out a tiny squeak, and Oswald laughed again.

 

“See?” he gestured around at how everyone was ignoring their antics, “If I don’t care, nobody cares. It’s the rule.”

 

Edward let out a shaky breath as he realized Oswald was right: nobody was watching them. Cautiously he lifted one of his own hands and placed it over Oswald’s, keeping it in place as he stroked his thumb across it.

 

“I – I can adapt, I suppose.”

 

“I’m glad,” Oswald said, before smirking and moving his hand up an inch higher.

 

Edward squeaked again, and Oswald’s smirk widened, “I could listen to you making those sounds _all night_.”

 

Edward swallowed down his hesitation and replied, “Take me back to your cabin and maybe you can find out just what other sounds I can make.”

 

Oswald all but chucked his knife down on the table and yanked Edward to his feet.

 

“What?” he asked, bewildered. Had he crossed a line? Was Oswald pissed? Would he be killed after everything?

 

“We’re going. _Now._ ”

 

“Going where?”

 

Oswald glanced over at him, “My cabin. Where else?”

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

Edward bit his lip and grinned.

 

Maybe he could get used to this lifestyle after all…


	20. Ice (Scriddler)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward just wants his boyfriend to join him on the ice.

Edward made another figure eight across the ice as he adjusted himself to being on skates again. It had been a few years since he’d last skated and it took him a moment to find his balance again. But slowly it was all returning to him, and he was enjoying every second of the feeling as he glided gracefully across the smooth surface. He wasn’t great at gracefulness, but here he could pull it off any day.

 

Now if only he could convince his boyfriend to come out on the ice with him, so they could hold hands and be romantic and…

 

“Hey!” he called out indignantly as he caught sight of Jonathan at the edge of the frozen lake. He wasn’t even _watching_ him. He was reading a book! How rude.

 

Jonathan glanced up at his exclamation, and Edward was too far away to properly read his expression but he imagined he’d raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

 

“Why don’t you join me?” he asked, doing a loop backwards before heading towards the bank. Jonathan did indeed have an eyebrow raised. Edward knew his boyfriend so well!

 

“I don’t know how to skate.”

 

“I can teach you,” he replied brightly. What a concept! The perfect excuse to make Jon hold his hand, certainly.

 

“No. I have no intention of mucking about on the ice, making a fool of myself.”

 

“Aw, Jon,” Edward pouted dramatically before skating away again. He was going to have to put some real thought in if he was going to trick the psychologist into doing what he wanted. What might entice him onto the ice? Maybe if he –

 

His thoughts were cut off by a sharp ‘crack’ beneath his feet.

 

Uh-oh.

 

Edward glanced down to see fractures spreading out from beneath his skates, all across the surface of the ice. He looked around to realize that, while he was distracted by his plotting, he had accidentally skated out too far and the ice beneath his feet was _not_ thick enough to hold him up. Oh dear.

 

“Jon!”

 

Jonathan didn’t glance back up from his book, just repeated, “Not happening,” in a deadpan voice.

 

“Jon! Heee – “ his cry for help was cut short as the ice gave way, two pieces tilting into a ‘v’ shaped funnel as he lost his footing, sliding into the icy water. The cold shocked his system, but he was more panicked by how heavy his skates felt, dragging him deeper into the lake. He reached up to try and tread water, only to find his arm beneath a chunk of ice. As he was maneuvering it free, his head slipped beneath the water and he had only a second to take as deep a breath as he could before he was completely submerged. His limbs thrashed, and the logical part of his brain reminded him to focus on untying his skates. Once free of the weight, he could attempt to escape the ice. His lungs burned and his head pounded with the lack of oxygen as every square inch of his body felt the burn of freezing water. It took so much effort to pull his first foot up to his hands, and he fumbled with the laces.

 

This was it, this was the end. He was done for.

 

Just as he was about to let himself black out and die in blissful ignorance, he felt something dig into his shoulder. Ah yes, the devil had come to claim him, probably.

 

The next thing he knew, he was shivering, on his back, on something soft and cold. Snow. He was lying on snow. Someone was kneeling at his side, helping him cough out cold water and gasp in fresh air. Slowly his hearing returned to him and he recognized Jonathan’s voice, tight with worry, repeating his name.

 

“Ed? Edward? Can you hear me? Ed?”

 

He coughed a few more times before managing to rasp, “Jon?”

 

He heard a sigh of relief from somewhere above him and he felt Jon’s spindly, bony arms encasing him. It was, Edward mused, perhaps the first time Jon’s touch had registered to his body as warm.

 

“Can you stand at all?” Jonathan asked, hands already moving towards his arm and waist to offer support, “We need to get you inside. You’ll die of cold out here.”

 

With significant effort, he dragged himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the other man as they made their way back to Jonathan’s truck. Once inside, he slumped against the door as Jonathan turned the heat up as high as it would go, pulling a blanket out of the back to drape over his limp form. Edward was too out of it to notice if Jonathan broke any speed limits, but from the way his every muscle was tensed with anxiety, he wouldn’t doubt it.

 

It wasn’t until he was curled up on their couch, a fire in front of him and a warm mug of cocoa in his hands, that he began to feel like himself again. Jonathan was sitting on the other cushion, watching him closely. After he took a sip of cocoa, he set the mug down with slightly shaky hands and smirked.

 

“Ed?”

 

“I told you I’d get you out on the ice somehow.”

 

“Edward! Don’t you dare – Don’t you _dare_ put yourself at risk like that again! You could have _died_ ,” Jonathan fumed, standing up to tower over him. Edward began to chuckle softly, but it quickly turned to coughing and Jon was instantly at his side again, hovering.

 

“Ed? Are you alright?”

 

“No,” he shook his head.

 

“No? What do you need? What can I do?”

 

Edward reached out and pulled him back down to the couch, closer than he’d been before, and snuggled into his arms.

 

“This.”

 

Jonathan let out a huff above him, but brought up a hand to pet his hair, “You’re incorrigible.”

 

“Mmm,” Edward nearly purred, curling closer, “And you love me.”

 

“That I do,” Jonathan sighed, “God help me.”  


	21. Flyting (Nygmobblepot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward experiences his first Yule at Oswald's palace after their wedding, and it is significantly different from what he is used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is supposed to be set in the same universe as 'In Fate's Eyes', for those of you that read my other works. 
> 
> Also, 'Flyting' is a term used to describe Viking/Anglo-saxon poetry battles, if you're curious about the title.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never celebrate Yule before!” Ivy gaped at him. Edward attempted to defend himself, insisting, “Of course I have! Everyone gathers in the Cathedral, the priests flood the place with incense and chant until you nearly fall asleep, but if you do, you’re punished, because you’re risking the future of the crops. Why would I be looking forward to that?”

 

Ivy scoffed, “Yeah, no, that’s not Yule. Yule is a time of celebration, when the castle gets opened up to all the common folk for the length of twelve days, and Oswald provides food and mead and music for everyone. We sing and dance and drink and challenge each other to games of skill, and no one has to work for more than one out of the twelve days. Everyone has food a-plenty, and a warm place to sleep, no matter their rank or station. It’s a wonderful time!”

 

“Oh,” Edward blinked, “It’s a… a party?”

 

“Pretty much!” Ivy clapped her hands, “I was going to ask you to be on my poetry team this year, but maybe you’d better sit this one out, observe it first.”

 

“Poetry teams?”

 

“Of course! On the night of the solstice, Oswald will break out the Mead of Poetry, and we will pass it around the hall. Everyone who drinks from it should be granted the power of words. So of course, we play games. You get a team of two, and challenge other teams to improvised poetry battles. It’s loads of fun, especially once people start getting _really_ drunk. But don’t worry, if poetry isn’t your thing, there’s always axe throwing, snow fights, weaving – all kinds of stuff! It’s like a gigantic winter fair!”

 

“That sounds… lovely,” Edward twisted his hands together. A fair? He’d never attended a fair, before, except once, when he was thirteen. His parents had to present him to the public, so they’d had him dressed up and he had to stand on a platform for half an hour before he was whisked back into the castle. It hadn’t been all that fun. He wasn’t sure _what_ to expect from the celebration Oswald would be hosting. He had already seen the booths setting up in the courtyard, people coming from the far outskirts of the realm to experience the best winter festival in the land.

 

~          ~          ~

 

“I hereby decree the doors of the hall to remain open, until the feast is concluded. And the feast shall not be concluded until the log has finished burning!” Oswald announced to the hall. Edward was seated at his right hand, silent as he gazed out across the sea of people. Barons sat beside pig farmers, brewers beside merchants, blacksmiths beside beggars. The entire room was packed to bursting with people, so much so that the servants who were attending on the first day struggled to weave through the crowd in order to deliver the plentiful foods. Unlike other days, however, once they finished serving they joined the crowd rather than returning to the kitchens.

 

Edward’s own plate was stacked high with the fruits of the harvest, preserved for the winter. Some sort of squash soup and bread, salted pork, baked apples, and – of course – mead were present on every table, perhaps the most elaborate meals some of the crowd had ever had.

 

Once the feast had commenced, and the log – which was, in truth, a thirty-some foot tree trunk – had been lit, the high table was allowed to retreat to themselves the same way as all the other tables did. Chatter flooded the hall, and Edward nearly missed Oswald turning to him and asking, “Is the food satisfactory?”

 

“It’s delicious,” he said, dipping a chunk of bread in the soup and savoring the flavor.

 

“I’m glad,” Oswald smiled, “So what do you think of our Yule celebrations? How do they compare to what you’re used to?”

 

“Oh, much better,” Edward replied, “And much grander. I never realized that Yule could be so… _enjoyable_.”

 

Oswald laughed at that, “I would be extremely put out if someone claimed they didn’t enjoy my Yule feast. I rather think I put more effort into this than I do any other event throughout the year. The flower festival in spring, the harvest festival in autumn, even the summer solstice – these can be sustained by themselves alone. But to celebrate in the barren chill of winter – that is when my people need my generosity the most.”

 

“A wise man, indeed,” he answered, causing Oswald’s smile to grow knowing.

 

“So, have you thought about whether you would like to participate in any of the games this year?” Oswald asked.

 

“Do you?”

 

“Rarely,” he admitted, “Many I do not enjoy, and as it is, being the king makes many others uncomfortable about besting me. It is not at all fun to play a game in which your opponent is _trying_ to lose.”

 

“Very true,” Edward nodded.

 

“Perhaps you could play me some time?” Oswald proposed, “It has been a good long while since I’ve played a good game of Hneftafl. I would imagine you are skilled at things such as that.”

 

“I like to think I am,” Edward replied, “And I would enjoy that a great deal.”

 

“Bad move,” Fries said at his elbow, “Oswald’s unbeatable.”

 

“Oh?” Edward raised an eyebrow, frowning.

 

“He’s just saying that ‘cause he can’t beat me,” Oswald scoffed. Edward gave a small smile, “Well, I’m always one for a challenge.”

 

“Your funeral,” Fries shrugged, turning back to his conversation with Captain Pike.

 

“So what do you prefer, then?” Oswald asked him. Edward shuffled in his seat, “I, well, I’ve always been a fan of kennings.”

 

“So poetry?”

 

“Perhaps. My parents always said – “

 

“Your parents have been exiled for crimes against the crown; anything they said may be considered lying treachery,” Oswald interrupted him.

 

Edward swallowed, “Well, I do _like_ poetry.”

 

“Then you should do it,” Oswald determined, “Practice any skills you favor or value. That is our way. Have you not noticed how I place my warriors and my scholars together? Each skill is valuable in its own right, and the unusual combinations of them are the key to why I have an empire while my enemies struggle to hold hamlets.”

 

“Alright,” Edward allowed, “I can practice.”

 

“Good,” Oswald smiled at him before biting into a pie, “Oh, this pastry is magnificent – here, I must have you try some.”

 

Edward allowed his husband to cut a slice for him, thinking not for the first time that he was incredibly well cared for by the king. To think, he had once feared the very sight of him…

 

Now if only Oswald would realize the depth of Edward’s feelings extended beyond tolerance or friendship…

 

“Hey, Pike!” Zsasz called down across the table, and Bridgit leaned forward to look at him, an unimpressed expression plain on her features, “What?”

 

“We’re being insulted down here! The Master Healer thinks us fighters haven’t got the ‘grace’ needed for poetry. Wanna take ‘em down with me?”

 

Bridgit downed the last of her current glass of mead and gave a low laugh, “You’re on, eggheads.”

 

Ivy turned to Oswald, “Got a prize incentive for the winner of the match?”

 

“Hmm,” he tapped his fingers, waiting as more and more of the hall fell silent, becoming spectators for the challenge, “Well, if he is willing, I propose as follows: the winner gets to face me.”

 

“You have a team?” Ivy asked, doubtfully.

 

Oswald turned to his husband, “Edward? Would you do me the honor of helping me defeat the winners of this challenge?”

 

Edward swallowed, considering. On the one hand, performing in front of such a crowd was nerve-wracking, especially given how many times his abilities had been disparaged as a child. But on the other hand, he did so love poetry, and _he_ believed he was good, and so, it seemed did Oswald. And didn’t he always want to be included?

 

“I would love to.”

 

Ivy’s eyes widened and, since it was Yule, when everyone was placed on equal footing, it wasn’t a scandal when the entire hall heard her say, “Oh shit.”


	22. Secret Santa (Scriddler)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan doesn't want to participate in the Gotham Rogues' Secret Santa, but when he draws Edward's name, he can't bring himself to slack off.

“This is stupid.”

 

“Yes, Jon, we’ve heard your opinion,” Selina rolled her eyes, “Now write your damn name down and throw it in the hat. Jervis is already getting antsy.”

 

Jonathan gave a long suffering sigh and scrawled out his name, tossing it into the large top hat.

 

“Harvey,” Selina snapped, “Are you in or out?”

 

“I’m letting the coin decide,” he grumbled, “Heads is in, tails is out.”

 

“Well hurry it up,” Pamela complained, “I’m getting cold, Freeze is getting warm – “

 

“I can warm ya up, if ya like, Red,” Harley wiggled her eyebrows.

 

“Later,” Poison Ivy gave her a warning glance.

 

“Looks like I’m in,” Harvey threw his paper into the hat.

 

“Alright, that’s everyone,” Selina shook the hat, “Remember: draw one. If it’s your name, show everyone and put it back. No gag gifts – put a little thought into it. Max price is – we’re all rich right now, right? – max price is fifty dollars. No stole goods that could bring the GCPD down on anyone, either. All clear?”

 

A chorus of ‘yes’s greeted her declaration and she gave the hat one last shake before calling out names.

 

“Pamela.”

 

“Waylon.”

 

“Harvey.”

 

“Har _ley_.”

 

“Edward.”

 

“Victor.”

 

“Basil.”

 

“Jonathan.”

 

Jon walked up to the hat and reached in, feeling around for a piece of paper. This whole thing was ridiculous. He’d probably just get them some candy and a shirt or something, he’d –

 

_Edward_

 

Oh.

 

Oh that changed things.

 

Jonathan sat back down, resolutely _not_ looking at the rogue whose name he’d drawn.

 

“Oswald.”

 

Edward was fascinating. A combination of mental and emotional issues that wove a gorgeous tapestry, but the wonder didn’t end there. He was charming, funny, intellectually stimulating – not to mention, easy on the eyes –

 

“Me.”

 

Alright, maybe Jonathan had a bit of a crush on the younger man. Maybe he lamented how little time he got to spend with the other. Maybe he actually made sure his clothes weren’t wrinkled if he thought Edward might see him. Maybe –

 

“Aaand Jervis. Alright folks, that’s all. The party is in one month: December twenty-fourth, graciously hosted by none other than our very own Oswald, at the Iceberg Lounge. See you all there,” she gave a wave before throwing open the nearest window and climbing out.

 

The other rogues dispersed, some staying to chat. Jonathan was still thinking about Edward as he overheard Harley call, “We still on for dinner?”

 

“I – I don’t know,” came Edward’s reply. He was biting his lip, and Jonathan willed himself not to be distracted.

 

“May date may or may not have backed out…”

 

“Oh, Eddie, I’m sorry. Why dontcha come anyways, take your mind off it.”

 

“Won’t I just feel like a third wheel?”

 

“Well, let’s just invite someone else. Hey,” her eyes strayed around the room, meeting Jonathan’s before he had the chance to pretend like he wasn’t eavesdropping, “Hey, Jonny! Come have dinner with us on Friday!”

 

Jonathan stood up slowly, joints creaking and popping, before he joined them. He hesitated, unsure how to answer, until he caught sight of Edward’s eyes. Was that – could that be – hope?

 

“Okay.”

 

“Yay!”

 

Maybe Jonathan was going to have to put more effort into this gift than he’d planned.

 

~          ~          ~

 

“Alright, well, I had Harley,” Waylon said, “As I’m sure you know, I can’t exactly stroll into a store and buy stuff, so I hope you like it. I had it commissioned.”

 

Harley tore into the wrapping paper, unveiling a painting of herself and Pamela, wreaking havoc on a group of rather unsavory looking men.

 

“Oh, it’s wonderful! Red, let’s put it in the guest lounge. Wouldn’t it look good above that purple couch?”

 

“Yes, dear.”

 

“Thanks!” she exclaimed, giving Killer Croc a squeeze before dropping back into her seat.

 

“Okay, I had Jonny.”

 

Jonathan took his present with no small amount of trepidation. He couldn’t remember ever receiving a present that wasn’t a mockery of some sort. A mirror with a skull sticker over it, to ‘enhance’ his looks; a goofy-looking scarecrow bobblehead based on the _Wizard of Oz_ character; a rubber brain; and once, a solitary string bean. He wasn’t at all thrilled to find out what joke would next be made at his expense.

 

The package felt heavy and solid, a box shape. Cautiously he removed the wrappings and nearly dropped his gift in shock when he saw an old – at least eighty years, if not more – psychology textbook, and –

 

“Is this my original manuscript? I thought they burned – “

 

“I found it in a storage closet, when I was at Gotham U. In a dusty old shoebox. It’s what made me change majors to psych. I snuck back in a week ago, and it was right where I’d left it. I thought ya might like to have it back.”

 

“Harleen, I – “ his voice caught in his throat, “Thank you. I’m sure it’s riddled with mistakes, but still I – I thought for sure it had been lost forever. Thank you.”

 

“No problem!”

 

“I – I – “ he wiped the corner of his eyes with his sleeve and cleared his throat, “I had Edward.”

 

Edward perked up at the sound of his name, frowning when all Jonathan handed him was a small card.

 

“What - ?”

 

“I – I wanted to get you your favorite thing, so – it’s a clue.”

 

“A clue?”

 

“Yes. To a puzzle. Throughout the city. I’m sure it’s nothing compared to yours, but I hope you’ll enjoy it all the same. Your present is at the end.”

 

Edward gasped, clearly delighted, and Jonathan knew he’d made the right choice.

 

~          ~          ~

 

“Jon, it’s perfect!”

 

Jonathan blinked the sleep from his eyes, cracking his back as he stretched in his chair. Edward burst into the study a second later, flinging his arms around Jonathan. He backed away far too quickly for Jonathan’s liking.

 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! It’s _just_ what I needed for my latest invention.”

 

“I’m glad you like it,” Jonathan said, straightening his back and his glasses, “Er – Edward? Can I ask you something?”

 

Edward paused, a little dazed by the interruption to his gushing, “Sure.”

 

“Please don’t feel obligated, but would you consider going out to dinner with me?”

 

Edward blinked, “Like – like a date?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Of course!”

 

“Really?” Jonathan was taken aback.

 

Edward rolled his eyes and snorted, “Of course, really! I’ve only been waiting for you to ask me for the past year and a half!”

 

“You _what?_ ”


	23. Moving On (Nygmobblepot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to "You Made It"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is both a sequel to my first nygmobblepot christmas fic and kinda-sorta a set up for a Christmas present to a friend which, while likely going to be late, will (with their okay) be posted in the next couple of days.

Oswald rolled over, his brain abruptly waking up as he felt an unfamiliar, heavy blanket over top of him. His eyes flew open and he began taking in his surroundings. He was in a bed, he wasn’t tied up, he was –

 

Oh. That’s right. He was at Edward’s place. He’d been invited to stay the night, an increasingly regular occurrence since Martin had brought them together again.

 

He let his hand fall over the empty side of the bed, registering a total lack of warmth that meant Edward had been up for quite some time.

 

Of course. Today was the day! Today was Christmas.

 

Oswald sat up, rubbing and stretching his bad leg as he let himself fully wake. Now that he was aware, he noticed the scent of pancakes and syrup drifting into the room from the direction of the kitchen. Enticing.

 

He got up and dressed before he left the bedroom, never one for casual appearances. When he reached the kitchen, he realized he was the last one up. Martin was currently devouring a pancake shaped like a gingerbread man, with a chocolate chip face and buttons. Edward’s own pancake man was sitting in a puddle of syrup, soaking it in while he flipped the next one off the gridle.

 

“How kind of you, dear,” Oswald said, in place of good morning.

 

“Hmm?” Edward turned to accept a peck on the cheek before moving back to the stove.

 

“You’ve drowned yours first, so he doesn’t have to feel the pain of being eaten alive.”

 

Edward frowned in confusion until he saw Oswald pointing at his syrupy pancake, and then he laughed out loud.

 

“It wasn’t a charity drowning,” he decided, “It was a test, to see if he was a witch.”

 

“And was he?”

 

“Of course not! He drowned.”

 

Oswald chuckled and noticed Martin doing the same. He ruffled the boy’s hair, saying, “Good morning, Martin. Enjoying Christmas?”

 

Martin nodded enthusiastically, pointing towards the stocking, which was obviously stuffed full, and the numerous packages beneath the tree. Between Edward and himself, they were going to spoil the boy.

 

“Not until after breakfast,” Oswald reminded him, and Martin began wolfing down his pancakes faster, “But don’t choke! Your presents aren’t going anywhere.”

 

Edward smiled at them both as he took the platter of pancakes to the table and joined them. He handed Oswald a plate with a pancake man all his own.

 

“Thank you, darling.”

 

“You’re very welcome,” Edward grinned, ducking his head over his own plate and digging in to the maple monstrosity.

 

Oswald himself drizzled a bit of syrup over the top – just enough to make the powdered sugar he heaped on it sticky and moist.

 

He was barely a third of the way in when Martin stood up, utensils clattering as he rushed to rinse his dishes and lay them in the sink. Then he hovered by the table, shifting from one foot to the other, staring at them.

 

Oswald looked at Edward and smirked, “Well, dear? Shall we give him leave to leave the table, or will we cruelly force him to wait for us to finish as well?”

 

Edward glanced up, having entirely missed Martin’s anxious excitement.

 

“Oh good heavens, let him get to it,” Edward grinned, “He’s been patient long enough.”

 

“You heard him, Martin,” Oswald told the boy, “Have at.”

 

With a jump, Martin dashed to the living room, tearing into the first box before he’d even sat down properly. Edward and Oswald watched in amusement from the kitchen as he tore through sweaters and slingshots and lego sets and candy bars.

 

“You know, I really never imagined myself being a father,” Oswald said in a low voice. Edward looked at him, “I always wanted to. Be a parent, that is.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Come on, you must have noticed my obsession with having the ‘ideal’ family, the white-picket-fence deal.”

 

“Ah, yes,” Oswald pursed his lips, “That.”

 

“This is better,” Edward said quietly, “I was afraid of trying something new, something unknown. But it was all worth it. I wouldn’t trade our family in for all the Kristens and Isabellas in the world. Not now.”

 

“A – a family?”

 

“Of course. Martin is the perfect son, and you – you are the perfect partner. And the perfect father for Martin.”

 

“You’re not so bad, yourself.”

 

Edward shrugged awkwardly, “Perhaps.”

 

“I thought I’d lost my family twice already. I’d given up on it… First my mother died, then I pushed you and Ivy and all the others away… I never thought – “

 

“I came back,” Edward said softly, “And so can they. You should talk to her.”

 

“Who – Ivy?”

 

“Yes. She cared about you, once. She only left you because you refused to reciprocate. You didn’t give anything. But look at you now: the cornerstone of a loving, caring family. If you try, you can make it up to her, and she’ll come back too. I wouldn’t mind a larger family.”

 

“You really think so?”

 

“I know so. You’re magnificent, Oswald, you just need to remember to try. To let people in. If there’s one thing I’m sorry for, it’s that I contributed to your closing yourself off. I never wanted you to do that.”

 

“We’re moving on, remember?”

 

“I know. I just wanted you to know that. You’re at your best when you’re with others, Oswald. Look how happy we all are – you, Martin, and _especially_ me. I can’t remember being happier.”

 

Oswald looked at him, and Edward’s entire expression was in earnest.

 

“Alright. I’ll remember that. I’ll – I’ll try.”

 

“Good,” Edward leaned over to kiss him before resting his head on Oswald’s shoulder, “We’re going to be okay.”

 

Oswald watched Martin excitedly ripping the plastic off a book on survivalism and the art of making weapons out of your surroundings. He leaned his cheek against Edward’s head on his shoulder. He took another bite out of his powdered-sugary pancake.

 

“I think you may be right.”


End file.
